PT 

1155 


1996 


UC-NRLF 


o 


IN  MEMORY  OF 
WILLIAM  C.  HABBERLEY 


Cj/t".?'-*-  'f 


/ 


SCHILLER'S 


AND  OTHER   POEMS. 


.     .    .     TRANSLATED  BY    ... 


THOS.  C.  ZIMMERMAN 


[SECOND  EDITION,  1896.] 


[PRINTED    FOR    PRIVATE    CIRCULATION    ONLY.] 


\\ 

READING,  PA. 

1896. 


SCHILLBR'S 


AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


.     TRANSLATED  BY     .     . 


THOS.  C.!  ZIMMERMAN 


[SECOND  EDITION,   1896.] 


[PRINTED    FOR    PRIVATE    CIRCULATION    ONLY.] 


READING,  PA. 
1896. 


PRESERVATION 
COPY  ADDED 


, 


TO  HIS   DEAR   FRIEND 

WILLIAM  M.  GRISCOM,   ESQ.. 

TO  WHOSE   KINDLY   OFFICES 
WHILE   A  RESIDENT   OF  BERLIN,   GERMANY, 

THE  TRANSLATOR 

WAS  MUCH   INDEBTED   FOR   LITERARY    FAVORS, 

THIS  VOLUME  IS 
RESPECTFULLY  INSCRIBED. 


GIFT 


[The  present  volume  has  been  reprinted  to  accom- 
modate a  steadily-increasing  demand  for  the  translator's 
rendition  of  "The  Song  of  the  Bell,"  which  he  has  not 
been  able  to  supply.  A  great  many  letters  of  commend- 
ation of  his  work,  which  appeared  in  the  first  edition, 
have  been  omitted  in  this,  while  a  number  of  others, 
from  distinguished  sources,  which  were  received  after 
the  initial  volume  had  made  its  appearance,  have  been 
inserted  in  this.  Other  new  matter,  such  as  Mr.  Zim- 
merman's address  on  Schiller's  birthday  anniversary, 
together  with  his  translation  of  Luther's  celebrated 
hymn,  'Ein'  feste  Burg  ist  unser  Gott,'  and  a  few  other 
translations,  will  also  be  found  in  this  edition.] 


S5620548 


lea 


cf  tke 


Fieos  Foco.      JUortuos  Plango.      Ful.gura  Frango. 

Firmly  wailed  in  earth,  and  steady, 

Stands  tne  mold  of  well  burnt  clay. 

Quick,  now,  workmen,  be  ye  ready  ! 

Forth  must  come  the  bell  to-day  ! 
Hot  from  forehead's  g'ow 
Must  the  sweat-drops  now, 

Should  the  master  praise  be  given  ; 

Yet  the  blessing  comes  from  Heaven. 

The  work  prepared  with  so  much  ardor 
M;iy  well  an  earnest  word  become  ; 
When  good  discourse  attends  the  labor, 
Then  flows  employment  briskly  on. 
Observe  with  care,  then,  what  arises — 
See  what  from  feeble  strength  escapes; 
The  man  so  poor,  each  one  despises, 
Whene'er  foresees  the  form  he  shapes. 
'Tis  this  that  man  so  well  adorneth, 
For  mind  hath  he  to  understand 
That  in  his  inner  heart  he  feeleth 
Whate'er  he  fashions  with  his  hand. 

Take  the  wood  from  trunks  of  pine- 
trees, 

But  well-seasoned  let  it  be, 
That  th'  imprisoned  flame  may,bursting 
Strike  the  flue  with  lurid  glee  ! 

Let   the  copper  brew  ! 

Quick  !  the  tin  add,  too  ! 
That  the  tough  bell  metal,  flowing, 
May  the  proper  way  be  going. 

What  in  this  pit,  with  hidden  power, 
The  hands  with  help  of  fire  create, 
High  up  in  yonder  belfry-tower, 
Will  epeak  of  us    in  tones  elate. 
And  times  remote  will  hear  it  tolling, 
And  many  an  ear  its  sounds  will  thrill; 
Affliction's  plaint,  too,  be  condoling, 
And  help  Devotion's  choir  to  fill. 
Whatever  to  this  earthly  pilgrim 
This  ever-changing  life  may  bring, 
Will  strike  upon  its  crown's  clear  metal 
Whose  tones  will  then  reverb' rate  ring. 

Bubbles  white  now  see  I  bursting; 
Good!  the  mass  is  melting  now; 
Let  alkali  be  thrown  in  with  it, 
That  will  quick  promote  its  flow. 

And  from  dross  set  free 

Must  the  mixture  be,  [ing, 

That  from  the  metal's  unmixed  found- 
Ciear  and  full  may  the  bell  be  sounding. 


Vivos  voco.    Mortuos   plango.    Fulgura   frango. 

^eftgemomert  in  ber  Cjrten 
©tefyt  bie  florin,  auS  i'elmt  gcbran;;i. 
<£>eute  mufc  bie  GHorfe  »>evben  ! 
#rifd),  ©efeUen,  feib  jur  £>anb  ! 

SBpn  bar  ©time  f>eik 

3iinnen  mutj  ber  ©d;ir»eifi, 
Soli  ba§  SBerf  ben  3R«ift«  !r6en  ; 
ber  <2egen  fommt  fcon  oben. 


.3  urn  SBerfe,  ba3  toir  crnft  bereiten, 
(3?&iemt  fid?  toofyl  cin  ernfte$  SBort  ; 
3Senn  gute  Dieben  fie  begleiten, 
2)ann  fUefct  bie  Arbeit  munter  fort. 
<So  la^t  un§  jeM  mit  $Ieifj  betrac^ten, 
2Ba§  burc^  bie  fcfytoacfye  Kraft  enti>ringt  ; 
S)en  fcfyledjten  3Jiann  muf}  man  terac^ten, 
2)er  nie  bebac^t,  tua^  er  k>oUbringt. 
3)a£  ift'§  ja,  h>a§  ben  9Jienfd)en  jieret. 
llnb  baju  n>arb  ifym  ber  SSerftanb, 
er  im  innem  ^erjen  fpuret, 
er  erfdjafft  mit  jeiner  .^anb. 


^0(3  t>om  ^tc^tenftamme, 
red)t  troaen  lafet  e§  fein, 
2)  aft  bie  eingepreftte  ^lanmie 
(Sc^lage  ju  ten  @d;n>atrf>  ^inetn. 
Koc^t  be3  Hu^ferd  Srei  ! 
©cBneU  baS  Htim  krbet, 
®ajj  bie  jtifye  ©Torfenj^eife 
glieBe  nad;  ber  rerf;ten  2Beife  ! 


in  be§  S5amtne§  ttefer  ®ntbe 
S)te  £anb  mit  ^euer^  §itlfe  baut, 
."god?  auf  beS  X^urmeS  ©locfenfhtbe, 
£>a  iuirb  eS  bon  unS  jeugen  laut. 
3bc^  baueru  iwirb'g  in  foaten 
Unb  rii!;ren  trieier  9Jienfd;en 
llnb  toirb  mit  bem  §yetriibten  flaaen 
Unb  ftiinmcn  gu  ber  Slnbac^t  (£I;or. 
SBad  unten  tief  bem  Grbetilobne 
25  aS  toecfyfelnbe  S3erf;dngni|  brtngt, 
2)a§  fcfyltigt  an  bie  metaflne  Krone, 
2)ie  eS  erbaulid^  tceiter  lltngt. 


_^  SBIafen  fefy'  id;  fr, 
gBo$! !  bie  3Kaffcn  finb  im  „.„>,. 
"  ;'£  mit  Jljcoenfalft  bnrdpbringcn, 
befbrbert  fdmell  ben  ©u§. 

bom  ©c^aiune  rein, 
_  bie  3)iifdmng  fein, 
oom  rein  lichen  DietaHe 
,  unb  t»oU  bie  ©tunme 


For,  with  its  joyous,  festal  ringing, 
[t  greets  the  child,  in  accents  clear, 
Who,  wrapt  in  sleep,  is  just  beginning 
His  earliest  step  in  life's  career. 
In  Time's  dark  womb  for  him  reposes 
A  crown  of  thorns,  a  wreath  of  roses. 
A  mother  guards — her  love  attending — 
His  golden  morn  with  beauty  blending — 
Arrow-swiftly  flies  each  year. 
From  maid  the  boy  now  proudly  runneth, 
With  pilgrim's  staff  doth  rnadly  roam 
Throughout  the  world;  at  last  returneth 
A  stranger  in  his  father's  home. 
And  beauteous,  in  her  youthful  splendor, 
Like  vision  from  celestial  skies, 
With  modest  mien  and  blushes  tender, 
He  sees  the  maid  before  his  eyes. 
A  nameless  longing,  pleasure-thrilling, 
Then  seized  the  youth;  alone  strays  he; 
His  eyes  with  copious  tears  are  filling, 
From  brothers'  wild  sports  doth  he  flee. 
Encrimsoned,  now,  her  steps  he    traces, 
Her  greeting's  like  a  joy  new-born, 
Tiie  fairest  flower  in  field  embraces 
Wherewith  his  loved  one  to  adorn. 

O  sweetest  hope!     O  tender  longing! 
Tilt  earliest  love's  first  golden  time! 
The  eye,  it  sees  the  heavens  thronging 
With  rapt 'rous  sights  and  scenes  sublime: 
O  that  they  would  be  never-ending, 
These  vernal  days,  withlovelightblending. 

See  the  pipes  already  browing! 
This  small  bar  I  dip  therein; 
If  it  show  a  glazed  coating, 
Then  the  casting  may  begin. 

Workmen,  quickly  go; 

Prove  the  mixture's  flow. 
When  soft  and  brittle  fuse  together, 
'Tis  a  sign  propitious  ever. 

For  when  the  stern  and  soft  are  sharing, 
And  strength  with  gentleness  is   pairing, 
The  harmony  is  sweet  and  strong. 
Who,  therefore,  would  be  boi^nd  forever, 
Must  see  that  hearts  agree  together! — 
Illusion's  brief,  repentance  long. 
Lovely,  in  the  bride's  fair  tresses, 
Plays  the  virgin  wreath  of  green, 
When  the  merry  church  bells,  ringing, 
Summon  to  the  joyous  scene. 
Ail!  life's  sweetest  festal  moments 
Also  end  life's  sunny  May, 
With  the  veil,  and  with  the  girdle, 
Fond  illusions  fade  away. 
For  passion  will  fly, 
But  love  be  surviving; 
The  flower  must  die, 
The  fruitage  be  thriving. 
The  man  must  be  out 
In  life's  battle  fighting, 
Be  sini££lin£  and  striving 


mit  ber  ^freube  ft-eierffcmge 

fie  bas  geltebte  &inb 
2luf  feine*  BebenS  erftem  Qange, 
£>en  cs  in  ScblafeS  silrm  beginnt; 
'^m  rufyen  uocfy  im  3eiten}d}oofje 
Sie  idjnmrjen  unb  Die  fyettern  Soofe; 
2)er  SKutterliebe  jarte  (Sorgen 
$eft>ad?en  jeinen  goibncn  9JJorgen  — 
T>te  ;$<u)re  fliefyen  pfeilgeiduwnb. 
4tom  }JJdbd;en  reiju  fid?  ftol|  ber  £nabe, 
(5r  fturrnt  in<3  geben  hnU>  tnnau£, 
2)urd;mtftt  bte  2Mt  am  2Sanberftabe, 
ftremb  fefyrt  er  fyeim  ins  i&aterfyaus. 
itnb  berrlid)  in  ber  3ngenb  ^Srangen, 
iBie  ein  (^ebilb  cms  ,'pimmele^cbn, 
9Jitt  jiic^tigen,  t>erjcbdmten  SSangen 
©ie^t  er  bie  '^iingfrau  »or  fic^  fte^n. 
2)  a  fa^t  ein  namenlofe*  @e^?nen 
2)es  ;3ungling^  .perj,  er  irrt  atletn, 
S2lus  jeinen  2lugen  bred)en  X^ 
(5r  flieb.  t  ber  Srii&er  toilben  Siei^' 
©rrotbenb  folgt  er  if»ren  ©pureu 
ttnb  ift  t>on  ibrem  ©ru^  begliicft, 
2>a§  ©c^onfte  fuc^t  er  auf  ben 
SJoniit  er  feine  ^iebe  jc^miicft. 

D  jarte  @e^nfud)t,  fufee§  §offen  ! 
S)er  erften  Stebe  g^lbne  Beit  ! 
S)a§  3tiige  [ie^t  bm  .^tmmei  offen, 
G^  jd;melgt  ba§  ^erg  in  ©eltgfeit  : 
D,  bafe  fie  etoig  grihten  bliebe, 
2)ie  )d;one  &it  ber  jungen  Siebe  ! 

25te  fid)  fd;on  bte  'ipfetfen  brauncn  ! 
2)iefe§  ©tdbd^en  tcmd)1  id;  ein, 
©e^n  n)ir'§  iiberglaft  erfcfietnen, 
Sirb's  jum  ©uffe  jeitig  fein. 

3e^t,  ©cfclien,  frtfd;  ! 

^riift  mtr  ba§  CJemifd), 
Cb  ba^  ©^>r;be  mit  bem  2Betd;en 
Sal?  UvTcint  gum  guten  £ 


Senn,  rjo  bi5  Strcnejc  mit  bem 
2Go  ©tartco  fid?  unb  s)Jiilbe§  paanen 
2)  a  giebt  cs  ci.;o:i  guten  ^lang. 
2)rum  priife,  tDec  fid;  cn>ig  btnbetr 
Db  fid;  ba§  ,\">er^  ^um  ^erjen  finbet  ! 
Ser  2Bab,n  ift  furj,  bie  "SJeu1  ift  lang 
l';:blid?  in  ber  ^laute  fiocfeu 
Sjielt  ber  jungiruitlid;c  jlran^ 
^;nn  bie  ^e  len  ^trd^cnglorfen 
^  T'  en  311  be^  ^c'ft.-§  ©tanj. 
xld;  !  b.-d  ^ebeng  fdionfte  geier 
trnb'g;  avri)  ben  i'cicnsmat, 
Wit  bem  Giirtet,  mit  bem  <Sd)(eiec 
Neikt  ber  fd)one  SSafm  ent^ei. 
3)ic  Seibenfd;aft  fli^^t, 
3Me  £tel)e  mur5  ttnbcn; 
2)te  531  me  Uerblii^t, 
Die  >ynt:b,t  mu|  tretben. 
mnf;  I;inau3 

Vcben, 
iuivfcn  iinb  ftve&cn 


And  planting  $md  working, 

No  artifice  shirking, 

Be  risking  and  staking, 

His  fortune  o'^rtaking. 

Then  riches  flow  in,  like  a  river  unending, 

With  costliest  treasures  the  garners   are 

bending;  [spreads  out; 

The  store-rooms  expand,   tlie    mansion 
And  in  it  reigneth 
The  housewife  so  modest, 
The  gentlest  of  mothers, 
Who   wisely,  sweetly, 
Ruleth  discreetly; 
The  maidens  she  traineth, 
The  boys  she  restraineth; 
Her  work  ne'er  decreasing 
She  toileth  unceasing; 
With  well-ordered  pains 
She  adds  to  the  gains,        [with  treasure, 
And   fills   up  the   sweet-scented  presses 
Round   the  spindle   reels   thread   to  its 

swift-whirring  measure,  [until  full 
And  hoards,in  the  bright-polished  chest, 
The  linen  so. snow-white,  and  the  glisten 

ing  wool;  [she  adds  ever, 

The  gloss  and  shimmer  to  the  good 
And  resteth  never. 

And  the  father,  with  joyful  mien, 
From  the  mansion's  high,  far-seeing  gable 
Counts  his  wealth  in  the  blooming  scene; 
Sees  the  landmarks  his  estate  surround- 
ing. 

And  the  barn's  well-filled  bins  abounding, 
And  the  gran'ries.  with  bounty  bending, 
And  the  waving  grain,  its  sunshine  lend- 
Boasting,  with  pride-lit  face:  [ing; 

"Firm  as  the  earth's  own  base, 
'Gainst  all  misfortune's  might, 
Stands  my  house  in  stately  height  !'* 
But  with  Dest'ny  is  there,  seeming, 
No  lasting  union  interweaving, 
And  Misfortune  strideth  fast. 

Good  !  at  once  begin  the  casting: 
A  jagged  grain  the  breach  presents; 
But,  before  we  set  it  running, 
Pray  some  pious  sentiments  ! 

Th'  tap  knock  out !  And,  Lord, 

Well  this  house  do  guard  ! 
From  the  smoking  mold  come, gushing, 
Th' fire-brown  wavelets  on  ward  rush'g. 

How  friendly  is  the  fire's  might, 
When  tamed  by  being  watched  aright; 
And  what  man  fashions,  what  creates, 
From  this  heaven-born  force  he  takes. 
But  fearful  this  promethean  wonder, 
When  its  fetters  break  asunder. 
And  madly  leaps  unchecked  along  ! 
Dame  Nature's  daughter,  free  and  strong! 
Woe,  when  once  'tis  liberated, 
Spreading  free  on  every  hand; 


Unb  pflanjen  unb  fd)affen, 

Grltften,  erraffen, 

:Wii§  toetten  unb  hwigen, 

Sa§  &lud  $u  erjagen. 

£a  ftromet  fyerbet  bie  imenblidje  (SJaBe, 

G3  fullt  fidfr  ber  ©^eidjer  mit  foftlid&er  $oBe, 

£te  ftdume  mad)  feu,  cw 

Unb  brinnen  toaltet 

Sie  siic^tige  £au3frcru, 

Sie  ^hitter  ber  $inber, 

Unb  berrjdjet  toetfe 


UuJ)  lebret  bic 

llnb  toefyret  ben  flnaben, 

llnb  reget  o^n'  jgnbe 

2)ic  flei^igen  §anbe, 

llnb  me^rt  ben  ©etuinn 

3)iit  orbnenbem  (Stun, 

llnb  fiilfet  mit  gtifityn  bie  buftenben  Saben, 

llnb  br^t  urn  bie  jc^mirrenbe  ©^inbet  ben 


Unb  fammelt  im  reintid^  geglatteten 

Sic  fc^tmmernbe  SBottc,  ben  fcfyneeigten  Sein, 

Unb  fiiget  gum  ©uten   ben  OJlan^  unb  ben 


Unb  rutyet  ntmmer. 


Unb  ber  SSater  mit  fro^em  93Iicf, 
»on  be£  <paufc«  hjeitfc^auenbem  ©iebel 
Ikberjd^tet  fcin  blii^enb  ©riidf, 
©ie^>et  ber  ^Pfoften  ragenbe  ^Baume 
Unb  ber  ©djeunen  gefiiUte  9idume 
Unb  bie  @£etd)er,  t>om  @egm  gebogen, 
Unb  be3  .KornesJ  beivegte  SKogen, 
JWii^mt  fidj  mit  ftotjem  3Wunb  : 
fteft,  tt)ie  ber  ®rbe  ©runb, 
©Cflen  be*  Unglurfg 
Ste^t  mir  be£  ,t>aufe 
Sod)  mit  be3  ©ef(^4t 
3ft  fein  eto'ger  Sunb  ^u  flecfyten, 
Unb  ba^  Unglud  fc&reitet  fdjnell. 


!  nun  lann  ber  ©ufe  beginnen; 
ge^acfet  ift  ber  Sruc^. 
,  bet>or  h>ir'§  laffen  rinncn, 
23etet  etnen  frommen  © 
©tofet  ben  Sapfen 
®ott  betpa^r'  ba3 

in  be§  ^enfet^  33ogen 
mit  feuerfcraunen  SCogcn. 


ift  be§  fteuerS 

SBenn  fie  ber  9Jlenf^  bead^mt,  benni6(, 
Unb  h)aS  er  bUbet,  i»a§  er  fd)nfft, 

banft  er  btefcr  £>iinmel§fraft  ; 

fitrc^tbar  n>irb  bie  Jbin;mc(c>fva)if 
SQBenn  fie  ber  g-cffcl  ftrf;  entraffi, 
l£tnf;ertritt  auf  ber  eignen  3vur. 
Sic  frcie  Xod^ter  ber  sJiatur. 
SBe^e,  i»enn  fie  Io§gelaffenf 
ffiacfyfenb  o^ne  ffiiberftanb, 


Through  the  streets  like  fiend  unsated,  I  Surd;  bte  nottjefebien 
Quickly  moves  the  monstrous  brand  !  SBdl^t  ben  unptefyeitren 
By  the  elements  is  hated  Senn  bte  (Slemente 

Work^that's  done  by  human  hanci  •  Sas  ©ebtlb  ber 

From  the  clouds  come 

Richest  blessing, 

Rains  refreshing; 

From  the  clouds,  'mid  thunder's  crash, 

Lightnings  flash. 

Hear'st  from  yon  spire  the  wild  alarm  ? 

That's  the  storm  ! 

Red  as  blood 

Are  the  skies; 

That  is  not  the  daylight's  floo    '* 

What  tumults  rise 

Along  each  street ! 

Up,  smoke  and  heat. 

Through  the   streets,  with  fury  flaring, 

Stalks  the  fire  with  fiendish  glaring, 

Rushing  as  if  the  whirlwind  sharing! 

Like  the  blast  from  furnace  flashing 

Glows  the  air,  and  .beams   are  crashing, 

Pillars  tumbling,  windows  creaking, 

Mothers  wandering,  children   shrieking, 

Be.asts  are  moaning, 

Running,  groaning 

'Neaththe  ruins;  all  are  frightened, 

Bright  as  day  the  night  enlightened. 

Through  the  chain  of  hands,  extending, 

Wi'  zeal  contending, 

Flies  the  bucket;  bow-like,  soaring, 

High  in  air  the  stream  is  pouring. 

Comes  the  tempest,  howling,  roaring, 

Rushing  in  the  path  of  flame, 

Crackling  'mid  the  well-dried  grain, 

In  the  gran'ry  chambers  falling, 

'Long  the  well-dried  rafters  bawling; 

As  if  'twould  surely  .^ear,  in  blowing, 

The  very  earth  itself  arid  bear 

It  upwards  through  the  lurid  air. 

High  as  heaven  the  flames  are  growing — 

Giant  tall ! 

Hopeless,  all, 

Man  submits  to  might  o'erpow'ring; 

Idly  sees,  what  first  seemed  low'ring, 

His  work  to  sure  destruction  going. 

All  burnt  out  are 
Town  and  village, 

Rugged  beds  of  the  tempest's  pillage. 
In  the  hollow  gaping  windows 
Gloom  is  sitting, 

And  the   clouds,  through  heaven  flitting, 
Look  within. 

One  look  at  last 
Where  the  measure 
Of  his  treasure 

Juried  lies,  man  turns  to  cast — 
Then  clutches  he  his  start  with  pleasure. 
IVhate'er  the  flan-res  took  from  his  home, 
One  solace  ever  him  consoleth: 


2lu§  ber  SGBoIte 
Quillt  ber  Segcn, 
Strbmt  ber  ^e^en  ; 
2lu3  ber  SBolfe;  obne 
3urft  ber  Strabl. 

£>6rt  i|)r'§  toimntcru  Ijodj  &om  X^urm  ! 
2>a8  ift  Sturm  ! 
ffioty,  tote  Slut, 
3ft  ber  iptmmel  ; 
Sag  ift  nidjt  be§ 
\  28e(d)  ©etitmmel 
Strafeen  auf  ! 
Sampf  toaUt  auf  ! 
ftlacfernb  ftetgt  bie  $euerfaute, 
Surd)  ber  (Strafce  lange  geile 
2Bac$ft  eg  fort  mit  SBinbe^etle; 
^od)enb,  tote  ait§  Dfen§  3iact?m, 
©liibn  bie  Siifte,  Salfen  frac^cnr 
^foften  fturjen,  ft-enfter  flirren, 
iltnber  jammern,  Gutter  irren, 
X^iere  toimmem 
llnter  ^riimmern  ; 

rennet,  rettet,  fliid^tet, 
ift  bie  S3iac^t  gelid)tet; 

ber  §finbe  lange 
Urn  bie  SBette 
^Hegt  ber  Winter  ;  ^od^  itn 
©prtfcen  QueUeit  sBaffertoogen. 
£>eulenb  fommt  ber  ©turtn  geflogen, 
25er  bie  ^(amme  braufenb  fud^t. 
^3raffelnb  in  bie  biirre  ^rud^t 
^ycillt  fie,  in  beS  S^eidier^  5 
^n  ber  ©Barren  biirre 
Unb  al§  topHic  fie  tin 
Wit  fid?  fprt  b^r  @rbe  2Bud;t 
SWeifsen  in  getoalt'ger 
2Bad)ft  fie  in 
^Uefengrof?  ! 


ber  Weni6  ber  ©btterftdrJfe, 
fieF;t  er  feme  2Qerfe 
Unb  behnmbernb  unterge^en. 

:  - 

Seergebrannt  ; 

3ft  bie  Statte, 

2BiIber  (Stiirme  rauf»e§  Sette. 
^sn  ben  oben  >yenfter^o^Ien 
S5o^nt  bno  Qrauen, 
Unb  beg  ftimmels  3Kolfen  fatten 
fyincui. 


••> 


©men  ^8  ttcf 
9iad>  bent  (Mrabe 
Seiner  .s>abe 

Senbel  nod;  ber  Dfenid;  ^ttrndf  — 
Wretft  froMicf)  bann  aunt  SBanberftaBe, 
9BiS  ^encr^  33Bii*^  \bm  and;  geraubt, 
Gin  fit  fecv  Xroft  ift  t^m  geblieben  : 


He  counts  the  heads  of  those  he  loveth, 
And  lo  !  not  one  dear  head  is  gone. 

In  the  earth  'tis  now  reposing 
Haply  we  the  mold  did  fill; 
Will  the  light,  its  form  disclosing, 
Thus  repay  our  toil  and  skill  ? 
Should  the  casting  crack  ! 
Should  the  matrix  break  ! 
Ah,  perhaps,  while  hope  is  glowing, 
Its  bad  work  's  already  showing. 

To  earth's  dark  womb,  our  hopes  pos 

sessin,^, 

Coiiiide  we  what  our  hands  have  done, 
As  trusts  the  sower  the  seed  he's  sown, 
And  hopes  'twill  bloom  into  a  blessing, 
And  bless  him,  then,  as  heaven  has  shown. 
Yet  costlier  seed,  in  sorrow  sowing, 
We  trembling  hide  in  earth's  dark  womb, 
And  hope  that  from  the  coffin,  growing, 
A  fairer  form  will  sometime  bloom. 

From  the  steeple 
Sad  and  strong, 
Th'  bell  is  tolling 

A  fun'ral  song.  [ing 

Sad  and  slow  its  mournful  strokes  attend- 
Some    poor  wand  rer  tow'rds    his    last 
home  wending. 

Ah  !  the  wife  it  is,  the  dear  one; 
Ah!  it  is  the  faithful  mother, 
Whom  the  Prince  of  Shades,  unheeding, 
From  the  husband's  arms  is  leading, 
From  the  group  of  children  there, 
Whom  she  blooming  to  him  bare; 
On  whose  breast  saw,  maid  and  boy, 
Growing  with  maternal  joy. 
Ah  !  the  household  ties  so  tender, 
Sundered  are  forevermore; 
Gone  into  the  realm  of  shadows 
She  who  ruled  this  household  o'er. 
Now  her  faithful  reign  is  ended, 
She  will  need  to  watch  no  more; 
In  the  orphaned  place  there  ruleth 
A  stranger,  loveless  evermore. 

'Till  the  bell  be  rightly  cooled, 
Let  us  rest  from  toil  severe. 
As  the  bird  'mid  foliage  playeth, 
So  may  each  be  blessed  with  cheer. 

When  stars  twinkling  come — 

With  labor's  duty  done — 
Th'  workman  hears  the  vespers  ringing. 
Still  to  master  care  is  clinging. 

Homeward  now,  with  joy  attending. 
Far  in  forest  wild  the  wand'rer 
Towards  his  loved  cot  is  wending. 
Slowly  home  the  sheep  are  winding. 
And  the  cattle, 

Broad-browed,  gentle,  sleek,  assemlilin;?;. 
Come  in  lowing, 
Their  accustomed  places  knowing. 


@r  jar/It  bie  g>cin£ter  fritter  Steben, 
Hub  fief;  !  tfym  f^lt  fein  ttyeured  JjSaityt 

3  n  bie  ©ub'  ift'g  aufgenommen;. 
©lucftid;  ift  bie  $orm  gefulit  ;    : 
SBirb'S  and)  fcfyon  311  Sage  fo,.ujten, 
2)an  eg  fjleijj  uub  ihmft  ttergtlt  ? 

2Beim  ber  ©«fj  mifjlang  ? 

SBenn  bie  $orm  gerfprang? 
2lcl;;  triel(eid)t  inborn  iutr  fyoffen, 
.•gat  ung  Unveil  fd;on  getroffen. 


bunfeln  ©cftoofe  ber  fyeil'gen  ©rbe 
Stertrauen  nrir  ber  ibanbe  £t;at,   / 
slvvTiraut  ber  ©antann  feine  oaat 
ttnb  ^offt,  baf;  fie  entfcimen  ioerbe 
,^um  ©egen,  nad;  be§  £)innnel§ 
iilodj  !oft(tc^)eren  ©amen  bergen 
SBir  tratternb  in  ber  @rbe  ©d^b 
llnb  Joffen,  ba{5  er  au§  be,n,<Sargen 

n  foil  311  fd;onerm 


S5on  bent 
©diiuer  unb  being, 
%bnt  bie  ©lodce 
©rabgefang. 

@mft  begleiten  il;re  Xrduer  fd;lage 
(Sineit  2Banberer  auf  bent  le^ten  SKege. 

3lc^  !  bie  ©arttn  tft'§,  bte  Retire, 
Sid;  !  e§  ift  bie  treue  flutter, 
Sie  ber  fc^ihjarse  ^i;rft  ber  ©fatten 
Segfii^rt  au^  bent  Sinn  beo  ©attenr 
2lu*  ber  jarten  ^inber  @u)aar, 
2)te  fie  biii^ehb  i^m  gebar, 
2)ie  fie  an  ber  treiien  S3iaift 
2Bad;jen  fa^  mit  2)lutterlufi  — 
21  d)  !  beg  i>,iuje^  garte  Sanbe 
@inb  getoff  auf  intnterbar  ; 
2>enn  fie  too^nt  im  ©fatten  fonbc, 
®ie  be§  feaufeg  ^hitter  tuar  ; 
®enn  eg  fe^lt  tl;r  treiieg  SiBalU'n, 
S^re  <3orge  iuadtt  nid;t  niebr  ; 
2(n  toertuaifter  ©tatte  fd;.:Ucn 
2Birb  bie  ^rembe,  ticbelcer. 


33i§  bie  ©tocte  ftc^  berh'tf/Iet, 
Safu.bie  ftrenge  2lrbeit  ni^n. 
2Gie  im  Saub  ber  $-o<jcl  fpielet, 

)  jeber  giitlic^  t^un. 
SSmn  ber  Sterne  Si 
Sebig  aUer  ^fli 

ber  33urfc^>  bi'  ^ofper  )d;'agcn; 
s})ietfter  ntu^  fic^)  iinaia-  -pliiijcn. 

9Ruhter  forbert  feine  @d;ritte 
im  n^ilben  ^orft  ber 
ber  lieben  .Soeimat^utte. 
jie^en  ^eim  bie  ©c^af 
llnb  ber  9{inber 

^3reitgeftirnte,  glftle  ©c^aaren 
ftommen  britUcnb, 
15  ie  geivcf;nten  Otalfc  fiUIc::S. 


F  tiled  with  grafn 

Reels  the  wagon. 

Heavy-laden, 

Bright  with  leaves 

OH  golden  sheaves 

Garlands  g1«neef 

And  the  youngest  of  the  reapers 

Seek  the  dance, 

Street  and  market  g^row  more  silent; 

Household  inmates  now  are  seeking 

The  chef ring  glow  of  lighted  tapers. 

And  closing  tmvn-gfttea  'gain  are  creak- 

Darkness  ppr@a<f  eth  ["!£» 

O'ef  the  landscape; 

But  the  honest  burgher  dreadeth 

Not  the  night, 

Whteh  alarm  ta  fvll  spreadeth; 

For  the  eye   of  Law  keeps   watch  aright. 

Holy  Order,,  rich  In  blessing, 
Heaven's  daughter,  lightly  pressing, 
fttwfoth  those ©f eqtialitation, 
Firmly  lays  the  town'i  foundation, 
Calls  th<*  savage  from  his  wildness, 
Bid*  him  live  HI  peace  and  mildness. 
Into  human  httta  ahe  enters, 
Aeqimintelh  nil  with  gentle  manner*, 
And  that' dearest  band  weaves  'round  us 
Which  to  Fatherland  hath  bound  us. 

In  a  cheerful  obligation 
Thousand  busy  hands  unite, 
And  in  burning  agitation 
Forces  all  are  brought  to  light. 
Master  stirs,  and  workmen,  al«»o. 
When  guarded  well,  in  Freedom's  cause, 
Each  rejoices  in  his  station, 
Defying  those  who  break  the  laws, 
Blessing  is  the  prize  of  labor. 
Work  for  burgher  grace  commands; 
Kings  are  honored  by  their  office, 
Honored  we  by  busy  hands. 

Peace,  all-gentle, 
Concord  sweet, 
Tarry,  friendly, 
Never  from  this  place  retreat  f 
May  the  day,  too,  ne'er  be  dawning, 
When  ruffian  hordes  of  war,  engaging, 
Through  this  peaceful  vale  go  raging; 
When  the  heavens 
Which,  with  evening's  rosy  flashes, 
Softly  beam, 

Shall' towns  and  cities,  in  therr  ashes, 
Reflect  the  firelight's  frightful  gleam. 

Instant  break  the  mold  to  pieces, 
It  has  now  its  part  well  borne, 
That  both  heart  and  eye,  del'ghted, 
Mny  behold  the  perfect  form, 

rawing  the  hammer,  swing, 

'Till  the  case  shall  spring. 
For  the  bell,  to  sight  appearing, 
Must  its  outer  shell  be  clearing. 


SAh>er  Bewtn      „. 

©qtowmn  b«t  ©ogm, 

ftornftefatat  ; 

^unt  ben 

Sluf 

Bie 

ttnb  ba$  une  Sot!  b«r  ^nttter 


SWatft  unb  Strafje  toettai  fKOar; 
Urn  be«  i^i^ 
®amt|wln  Jt^f  We  . 
Unb  bai  6tabtt^or 
ixbetfet 


9m  We 

tDie  b«n 

ba«  Huge 


tvad 


Dtrb'.tuna, 

,  bw  bad  Sletdfe 
rei  unb  leic^t  unb  freubi^  binbet, 
e  bet  6t&btc  ^au  ^eATiinbet, 

Don  ben  ©cnlben 
n  un^ejcU'gen  SBilben, 
in  bet  Sftenfdjen  ^titten,. 
br^tt  ja  faniften  ©itten, 
Unb  ba§  t^euerfte  b«r  8anbe 
SBob,  ben  Xtiei>  $utn  Satartanbe  t 

Xaufenb  ffetf/ge  $anbe  regen, 
.^elfen  fic^  in  muntctm  Sunb, 
Unb  in  feuriflem  Setuegen 
Serben  «Uc  Krafte  funb. 
BMfttt  rQ^rt  fic6  unb  ©efctte 
^n  ber  ^reiOeit  ktCgem  6<^u^  ; 
Seber  freut  itc^  icuter  Stettc, 
SJietet  bem  Semester  Xrui:. 
Er&eit  ift  be§  SitrgetS  gicr 
©egeit  ift  bet-  SWiibe 
(SBrt  ben  ^onig 
ber 


(?  intrant, 


.fl&er  bicfer  ©tabt  f 
me  bcr  ^ag  etfc^cinen, 


^;eie§  ftitte  X^at  burc&tobcu, 

So  ber  §imrne(, 

2}eit  be§  2lDenbS>  fanfte  ??otr»» 

Sicbltd^  malt, 

9?pn  ber  2>orfer,  feon  bcr  ©tcibfe 

Sfiilbein  Sfranbe  fc^retflicl)  ftrafitt  f 


vec^t  mir  fea&  (SJebft^?, 
Seine  &bfid)t  I;at'^  crfttttt, 
Saf?  m  £>erj  unb  Sfu^e  fcocibe 
sJln  bem  fco^lgefBngtittti  ^ilb. 

ben  Sanunr,  [d)rvi  irtt. 
' 


:•     r-3enn  bie  $Hocf  foU  cmferftefcen, 
i     vlu&  bie  ^ormht  •«*'"-*•—  — *-- 


The  master,  with  judicious  training, 
Knows  when  'tis  best  to  break  the  mold; 
But  woe!  when  streams  of  ore,  all  glowing, 
Rush  unchecked  from  out  their  hold! 
Blind  raging,  like  the  thunder's  crashing, 
It  bursts  its  fractured  bed  of  earth, 
As  if  from  out  hell's  jaws,  fierce  flashing, 
It  spewed  its  flaming  ruin  forth. 

Where  forces  rude  are  madly  reigning, 
There  can  no  perfect  form  be  framing; 
When  nations  would  themselves  be  free- 
ing, 
The  common  weal  will  soon  be  fleeing. 

Woe,  when  in  the  heart  of  cities 
The  smouldering  embers  heaped-up  lie, 
When  the  people,  fetters  bursting, 
Help  themselves  with  savage  cry  ! 
Rebellion,  at  the  bell's  strong  cable, 
Sendeth  out  a  howling  sound; 
Though  consecrate  to  peace  and  quiet, 
The  tocsin  rings  the  signal  round. 

"  Equal' ty    and    Freedom !"    men    are 

shrilling, 

To  arms  the  peaceful  burghers  fly, 
The  streets  and  halls  with  crowds  are 

filling, 

And  murd'rous  bands  around  there  hie. 
Then  women,  to  hyenas  turning, 
'Mid  horrors  mock  and  jeer  and  jest, 
And  tear,  with  panther's  frenzy  burning, 
The  heart  from  every  hostile  breast. 
There's  naught  that's  sacred  more,   for 

breaking 

Are  all  the  bonds  of  pious  fear? 
The  bad  the  good  one's  place  is  taking, 
Vice  knows  no  law  in  its  career. 
'Tis  dangerous  to  wake  the  lion, 
Destructive  is  the  tiger's  tooth, 
But  far  more  fierce,  and  far  more  fiendish, 
Deluded  man  bereft  of  ruth. 
Woe  to  them  who  lend  the  sightless 
The  heavenly  torch  to  light  the  way  ! 
It  guides  them  not.  it  can  but  kindle, 
And  towns  and  lands  in  ashes  lay. 

Joy  to  me  now  God  hath  given  ! 
See  ye  !  like  a  golden  star, 
From  the  shell  all  bright  an.d  even, 
Comes  the  metal  kernel  clear. 

Bright  the  molten  stream 

Plays  like  sunny  beam. 
Lik  wise  on  th'  'scutcheon,  clearing, 
Is  the  skillful  work  appearing 

Come  in,  come  in  ! 
Ye  workmen  all,  the  pit  surrounding, 
Baptize  the  bell  ere  it  be  sounding ! 
CONCORDIA  its  name  shall  be 
To  heartfelt  union  and  adoration 
May  it  summon  all  the  congregation. 


$er  Sfteifter  fann  bie  $orm  aer&redjcn 


tuefye,  lucim  in  ^lammenbadjen 
2)a3  gliify'nbe  615  fid)  ielbft  befrett  ! 
$linbtt>uu)enb,  rmt  be*  SonnerS  $h-ad)en, 
3erfprengt  e§  ba$  gcborftne  £>au*, 
ttnb  hrie  au§  offnein  £>bllenrad)en 
©J>  eit  eg  SBevberben  siinbenb  au§. 

2Bo  rofye  tfrafte  fumloS  Urn  (ten, 
$a  fann  fid)  lent  ©ebilfr  geftalten  ; 
SBenn  ficfy  bie  SBblfer  ielbft  befretn, 
2>a  fann  bie  SQBofylfafyrt  nid)t  gebei^n. 


,  toenn  fid?  in  bent  ©dboofe  bcr  ©table 
2)er  j^euerjunber  ftili  g^auft, 
3)a8  Sol!,  gerreifjenb  leine  ^ette, 
Sur  ©igen^iilfe  fc^recflid)  greift  ! 
2)a  jerret  an  ber  ©locfe  ©tvdngen 
S)er  2lufru^>r,  bafe  fie  ^eulenb  fd}cCt 
llnb,  nur  genjei^t  ju  ^riebenefidngen, 
2)ie  Soiling  anftimmt  jur  ©eicalt. 


unb  ©IciA^eit  !  ^ort  ir  n  fatten; 
S)er  ru^tge  SBitrger  greift  jur  SBe^r, 
2)ie  ©tra^en  fiillen  fid),  bie  feallen, 
Unb  UQiirgerbanben  jie^n  uiu^er. 
2)a  icerben  SBeiber  j;u  ^tjcinen 
Unb  treiben  mit  ©ntie^en 
9?od)  jutfenb,  mil  be§  ^a 
3erretfjen  fie  be§ 
9iid)t§  §eilige§  ift  me^r,  e§  Ibien 
©id)  alle  Sanbe  fvonimer  <Sd;eu  ; 


2)er  ©ute  rainnt  ben  IJMafc  bem 
Unb  alle  Safter  Junlten  frei. 
©efa^rlid)  ift'§,  ben  I'en  su 
SBerberblid)  ift  be§  Xigcvo 
Sebod)  ba§  id)recflid)fte  ^ 
5)a§  ift  ber  SJienid)  in  feinein 
SQBe^  benen,  bie  bem  Ghmgblinben 


©ie  ftra^lt  ifym  nid)t,  fie  fann  nur  ji'mben, 
Unb  dfd;ert  ©ta'bt'  unb  Sduber  ein. 


f^reube  l^at  mir  ©ott  g 
©e^et  !  lvie  ein  golbner  ©tern, 
2lu§  ber  ibiilie  blanf  nub  ebon, 
©did'It  ftd^  ber  metallnc  5lcrn. 
SSon  bem 

mie 

nette  ©d;ilbcr 
Soben  ben  erfafyvnen 


^erein  ! 
©efellen  alle,  id}IieBt  ben  9lei$en, 

bie  ©lod;e  tanfenb  iuei^en  ! 
o  n  c  c  v  b  i  a  foil  iljv  9tame  ietn. 
nr  Gintrad)t,  ju  ^rjinnipe 

fie  bie  litbenbe  ©ciuvuw. 


And  this  henceforth  its  calling  be, 
Whereto  the  master  set  it  free! 
High  o'er  this  nether  world  of  ours, 
Shall  it,  in  heaven's  azure  tent, 
Dwell  where  the  pealing  thunder  lowers, 
And  border  on  the  firmament. 
It  shall,  too,  be  a  voice  from  heaven, 
Like  yonder  starry  hosts,  so  clear, 
Who  in  their  course  extol  their  Maker, 
And   9nward   lead   the   wreath-crowned 

year. 

To  earnest  things  and  things  eternal, 
Devoted  be  its  metal  tongue,      [pinions, 
And,  hourly,   Time,    with     swift-winged 
Will  touch  it  as  it  flieth  on. 
Its  tongue  to  Dest'ny  'twill  be  lending; 
No  heart  itself,  from  pity  free 
Its  swinging  ever  be  attending 
Life's  changeful  play,  whate'etf  it  be. 
And  as  the  sound  is  slowly  dying. 
That    strikes    with     such    o'erpow'ring 

might, 

So  may  it  teach  that  naught  abideth, 
That  all  things  earthly  take  their  flight. 

And  now  employ  the  cable's  power, 
Raise  the  bell  from  out  the  ground, 
That  in  its  roomy,  air-built  tower, 
It  may  reach  the  realms  of  sound  ! 

Higher,  higher  raise! 

Now  it  moves,  it  sways! 
To  this  city  Joy  revealing, 
Be  PEACE  the  first  note  of  its  pealing. 


ttnb  bie§  iet  fortra  i'u-  ;8eruf, 
2Bo$u  ber  iiJieifter  fu  erjrfjuf  : 
food?  itbenn  niebern  tiTicnleben 
©oil  fie  im  blcmen  .piwmel^elt, 
' 


tlnb  grenjen  an  bie  Steriieiuueit, 
<5ofl  erne  <3ttmme  Kin  Don  obcn, 
2Bie  ber  ©eftirnc  tyelle  ©cb,aar, 
£>ie  ttyren  ©djbjrfer  hxxnbelnb  loberi 
Unb  fiifyren  ba§  beMnjte  xja^r. 
^ur  eh)tgen  unb  crnftcn  S)ingen 
@ei  i^>r  metaUncr  9Jhmb  gei»eil;t, 
Unb  ftiinblicf)  mtt  ben  fd)nellen  3rf; 
33eru^c'  im  ftiuvp  fie  bie  3«t. 
2)em  ©d)tcffal  let:/e  fie  bie 
©  e  I  b  ft  fyerjloe,  o(;n 
33eflleite  fie  mtt  ibreai 


. 

tlnb  it)ie  ber-^tang  im  C^r  uergebet, 
S)er  mdd;tig  tbnen?  if^r  cnt^aUt, 
(So  left,  re  fie,  ban  n  f^ti  b^ftc'et, 
' 


mtt  ber  ^raft  bc§  , 

iegt  bie  CJIocf1  mtr  au§  ber  ©ruft, 
>a|  fie  in  ba§  9ieid;  bc8  ^(a"" 
©tetge,  in  bie  §imineBUtft ! 

ticket,  jie^et,  bebt ! 
ie  beivegt  fid),  fcbmebt. 
greube  biefer  ©tabt  bebeute, 
§  r  t  e  b  e  fei  if; r  erft  ©clautc. 


Sefynfucfyt— Tl)e  Longing, 


SCHILLER. 


Ach,  aus  dieses  Thales  Griinden, 
Die  der  kalte  Nebel  driickt, 
Konnt'  ich  doch  den  Ausgang  finden, 
Ach,  wie  fiihlt'  ich  mich  begliickt ! 
Dort  erblick'  ich  -schone  Hiigel, 
Ewig  jung  nnd  ewig  griin  ! 
Hatt'  ich  Schwingen,  hatt'  ich  Fliigel, 
Nach  den  Hiigeln  zog  ich  hin. 

Harmonieen  her'  ich  klingen, 

Tone  siissef  Himmelsruh, 

Und  die  leichten  Winde  bringen 

Mir  der  Du'fte  Balsam  zu. 

Gc  Idne  Friichte  seh'  ich  gliihen, 

Winkend  zWischen  dunkelm  Laub, 

Und  die  Blumen,  die  cjprt  bluhen, 

Werden  keines  Winters  Raiib. 

Ach.  wie  schon  muss  sich's  ergehen 
Dort  irn  ewigen  Sonnenschein,  : 
Und  die  Luft  auf  jenen  Hohen— 
O,  wie  labend  muss  sie  sein  ! 
Doch  mir  wehrt  des  Stromes  Toben, 
Der  ergrimmt  dazwischen  braust; 
Seine  Wellen  sincl  gehoben, 
Dass  die  Seele  mir  ergraust. 

Einen  Nachen  seh'  ich  schvvanken, 
Aber,  ach!  der  Fii,hrmann  fehlt. 
Frisch  hinein  und  ohne  Wanken  ! 
Seine  Segel  sind  beseelt. 
Du  musst  glauben.  du  musst  wagen, 
I  'enn  die  Gutter  liehn  kein  Pfand  ; 
Nur  ein  Wunder  kann  dich  tragen 
In  das  schone  Wunderland. 


Alas!  from  out  this  lowly  valley, 
Which  the  chilly  mists  oppress, 
Could  I  but  the  path  discover, 
Fill'd  I'd  be  with  happiness! 
There  I  see  yon  lovely  mountains, 
Ever  young,  and  green  all  o'er  ! 
Had  I  wings,  yea,  had  I  pinions— 
To  the  mountains  would  I  soar. 

Harmonies  do  I  hear  ringing, 
Tones  of  heavenly  rest  and  calm, 
And  the  gentle  winds  are  bringing 
Wealth  to  me  of  odorous  balm. 
i  Golden  fruits,  too,  see  Iglowing, 
Glinting  'tween  the  dark  green  spray, 
And  the  flowers,  there  now  blooming, 
Are  no  food  for  Winter's  prey. 


|  Ah  !  in  sunshine  never  ending 
It  were  sweet  to  wander  free, 
And  the  air  on  yonder  mountain- 
How  refreshing  it  must  be  ! 
But  an  angry  stream  confronts  me, 
Torrents  'twixt  us  furious  roll, 
Billows  heave  with  dreadful  menace. 
Striking  terror  to  my  soul. 

See  !  there  comes  a  reeling  shallop, 
But  alas  !  no  pilot's  there  ! 
Enter  in  it  without  wav'ring  ! 
!•  illed  are  all  its  sails  with  air.   • 
Thou  must  trust,  must  something  venture, 
Tho  gods  to  others  pledge  give  ne'er  ; 
Naught  but  wonder  can  convey  thee 
To  the  Wonde  land,  so  fair 


-10- 


Der  2llpen=3ager.— Tl>e  Alpine  Hunter, 


SCHILLER. 


Willst  du  nicht  das  Lammlein  hiiten  ? 
Lammlein  ist  so  fromm  und  sanft, 
Niihrt  sich  von  des  Grases  Bliithen, 
Spielend  an  des  Baches  Ranft. 
"Mutter,  Mutter,  lass  mich  gehen, 
"Jagen  nach  des  Berges  Hohen  !" 

Willst  du  nicht  die  Heerde  locken 
Mit  des  Homes  munterm  Klang? 
Lieblich  tont  der  Schall  der  Glocken 
In  des  Waldes  Lustgesang  : 
"Mutter,  Mutter,  lass  mich  gehen, 
"Schweifen  auf  den  wildea  Hohen  !" 

Willst  du  nicht  der  Bliimlein  warten, 
Die  im  Beete  freundlich  stehn  ? 
Draussen  ladet  dich  kein  Garten  ; 
Wild  ist  s  auf  den  wilden  Hoh'n  ! 
"Lass  die  Bliimlein   lass  sie  bliihen  ! 
"Mutter,  Mutter,  lass  mich  ziehen  !" 

Und  der  Knabe  ging  zu  jagen, 
Und  es  treibt  und  reisst  ihn  fort, 
Rastlos  fort  mit  blindem  VVagen 
An  des  Berges  finstern  Ort ; 
Vor  ihm  her  mit  Windesschnelle 
Flieht  die  zitternde  Gazelle. 

Auf  der  Felsen  nackte  Rippen 
Klettert  sie  mit  leichtem  Schwung, 
Durch  den  Riss  gespaltner  Klippen 
Tragt  sie  der  gewagte  Sprung  : 
Aber  hinter  ihr  verwogen 
Folgt  er  mit  dem  Todesbogen. 

Jetzo  auf  den  schroffen  Zinken 
Hiingt  sie  auf  dem  hochsten  Grat, 
Wo  die  Felsen  jah  versinken, 
Und  verschwunden  ist  der  Pfad. 
Unter  sich  die  steile  Hohe, 
Hinter  sich  des  Feindes  Niihe. 

Mit  des  Jammers  stummen  Blicken 
Fleht  sie  zu  dem  harten  Mann, 
Fleht  umsonst,  denn  loszudriicken, 
Legt  er  schon  den  Bogen  an  ; 
Plotzlich  aus  der  Felsenspalte 
Tritt  der  Geist,  der  Bergesalte. 

Und  mit  seinen  Gotterhanden 
Schiitzt  er  das  gequiilte  Thier. 
"Musst  du  Tod  und  Jammer  senden,' 
Ruft  er,  "bis  herauf  zu  mir  ? 
"Raum  fiir  Alle  hat  die  Erde  ; 
''Was  verfolgst  du  meine  Heerde?" 


Wilt  thou  not  the  lamb  be  heeding? 
Mild  and  innocent  its  look; 
Browsing  on  the  blooming  meadow, 
Playing  by  the  babbling  brook  ; 
"Mother,  mother,  let  me  fly 
"Hunting  on  the  mountain  high  !" 

Wilt  thou  not  the  herds  be  'luring 
With  the  bugle's  tones  of  cheer? 
Charming  sounds  from  bells  commingle 
With  the  woodland  songs  so  clear. 
"Mother,  mother,  roaming.  I, 
"Would  to  yonder  mountain  hie  !" 

Wilt  thou  please  attend  the  flower, 
In  its  bed  so  sweet  and  bright  ? 
Garden  none  without,  nor  bower, 
Wild  'tis  on  the  mountain  height. 
"Let  the  flowers  bloom  and  blow  ! 
"Mother,  mother,  let  me  go  !" 

And  the  boy  went  to  the  mountain, 
And  heedless,  both  of  time  and  place, 
With  blinded  zeal  that  knows  no  resting 
Thro'  gloom  he  strides  with  rapid  pace  ; 
Like  the  wind  from  put  the  dell, 
Panting,  flies  the  swift  gazelle. 

On  the  rocky  verge  she  climbeth 
With  an  easy,  graceful  swing, 
O'er  the  clefted  rocks  she  leapeth 
With  a  swift  and  fearless  spring  : 
But  behind  her  speeds  the  foe 
Recklessly  with  deadly  bow. 

See  how  o'er  the  rock-ribbed  summit 
Hangs  she,  on  the  topmost  height, 
Where  the  crags  sink  so  abruptly, 
And  the  path  is  lost  to  sight. 
Under  her  the  precipice, 
Close  behind  the  foeman  is. 

At  this  man  of  stone  she  glances 
With  silent  looks  so  full  of  woe, 
But  in  vain  ;  for  he  is  ready 
To  let  his  deadly  arrow  go. 
Instant  from  his  cavern  doors 
Th'  ancient  mountain  spirit  soars. 

And  with  godlike  hand  he  guarded 
This  tortured  creature  from  the  foe. 
"To  my  house  must  you  be  sending 
"Death's  darts,"  cried  he,   "and  lasting 
"Room  on  earth  for  every  one,      [woe  ? 
"Why  not  let  my  flocks  alone?" 


•II- 


€in  5efte  Burg.— A  Rod^ound  Fortress. 


MAETIN   LUTHER. 


Ein'  feste  Burg  ist  unser  Gott, 

Ein'  gute  Wehr  und  VVaffen. 

Er  hilft  uns  frei  aus  aller  Noth, 

Die  uns  jetzt  hat  be-roffen. 

Der  alt'  bose  Feind 

Mit  Ernst  er's  jetzt  meint ; 

Gross'  Macht  und  viel  List, 

Sein'  grausam'  Riistung  ist, 

Auf  Erd'n  ist  nicht  sein's  Gleichen. 

Mit  unsrer  Macht  ist  nichts  gethan, 

Wir  sind  gar  bald  verloren  ; 

Es  streit't  fur  uns  der  rechte  Mann, 

Den  Gott  hat  selbst  erkoren. 

Fragst  du,  wer  Der  ist  ? 

Er  heisst  Jesus  Christ, 

Der  Herr  Zebaoth, 

Und  ist  kein  andrer  Gott ; 

Das  Feid  muss  Er  behalten. 

Und  wenn  die  Welt  voll  Teufel  war 
Und  wollt  uns  gar  verschlingen, 
So  furchten  wir  uns  n'cht  so  sehr, 
Es  soil  uns  doch  gelingen. 
Der  Fiirst  dieser  Welt, 
Wie  sau'r  er  sich  stellt, 
Thut  er  uns  doch  nichts  ; 
Das  macht.  er  ist  gericht't, 
Ein  Wortlein  kann  ihn  fallen. 

Das  Wort  sie  soil  en  lassen  stan 

Und  kein'n  Dank  darzu  haben. 

Er  ist  bei  uns  wo  hi  auf  dem  Plan 

Mit  Seinem  Geist  und  Gaben. 

Nehmer>  sie  den  Leib, 

Gut,  Ehr,  Kind  und  Weib ; 

Lass  fahren  dahin, 

Sie  haben's  kein'n  Gewinn  : 

Das  Reich  muss  uns  doch  bleiben  ! 


A  rock-bound  fortress  is  our  God, 
A  good  defense  and  weapon. 
He  helps  us  out  of  every  need 
That  doth  us  press  or  threaten. 
The  old,  wicked  foe, 
With  zeal  now  doth  glow  ; 
Much  craft  and  great  might 
Prepare  him  for  the  fight, 
On  earth  there  is  none  like  him. 

With  our  own  strength  there's  nothing 
We're  well  nigh  lost,  dejected  ;     [done, 
For  us  doth  fight  the  proper  One, 
Whom  God  Himself  elected. 
Dost  ask  for  His  name  ? 
Christ  Jesus— the  same  ! 
The  Lord  of  Sabaoth, 
The  world  no  other  hath  ; 
The  field  must  He  be  holding. 

And  were  the  world  with  devils  filled, 
With  wish  to  quite  devour  us, 
We  need  not  be  so  sore  afraid, 
Since  they  can  not  o'erpower  us. 
The  Prince  of  this  World, 
In  madness  though  whirled, 
Can  harm  you  nor  me, 
Because  adjudged  is  he, 
A  little  word  can  fell  him. 

This  Word  shall  they  now  let  remain, 
No  thanks  therefor  attending ; 
He  is  with  us  upon  the  plain, 
His  gifts  and  spirit  lending. 
Though  th'  body  be  ta'en, 
Goods,  child,  wife  and  fame ; 
Go— life,  wealth  and  kin  ! 
They  yet  can  nothing  win  : 
For  us  remaineth  th'  Kingdom. 


Du  23tft  tPte  <£ine  23Iume.—  Tl)ou  Art  so 


a  Plover. 


HEINE. 


Du  bist  wie  eine  Blume, 

So  hold  und  sdion  und  rein  ; 

Ich  schau  dich.au  und  Wehmut 
Schleicht  mir  ins  Herz  hinein. 

Mir  ist,  als  oh  ic!i  die  Hiinde 
Aufs  Haupt  air  legen  sollt', 

Betend,  dass  dic'n  Gott  erhalte, 
So  rein  und  schon  und  hold- 


Thou  art  so  like  a  flower, 
So  pure  and  bright  and  fair  ; 

I  gaze  on  thee,  and  sadness 
Steals  on  me  unaware. 

I  feel  as  if  o  er  thee  binding, 
My  hands  should  close  in  pray'r  ; 

Praying  that  God  may  protect  thee, 
And  keep  thee  pure  and  fair. 


Dcs  Knaben 


.—  5l)epl)erd 


Mountain  v5ong> 


UHLAND. 


Ich  bin  vom  Berg  der  Hirtenknab, 
Seh'  auf  die  Schlosser  all  herab; 
Die  Sonne  strahlt  am  ersten  hier, 
Am  langsten  weilet  sie  bei  mir; 
Ich  bin  der  Knab  vom  Berge  ! 

Hier  ist  des  Stromes  Mutterhaus, 
Ich  trink'  ihn  frisch  vom  Stein  heraus; 
Er  braust  vom  Fels  in  wildem  Lauf, 
Ich  fang'  ihn  mit  den  Armen  auf; 
Ich  bin  der  Knab  vom  Berge  ! 

Der  Berg,  der  ist  mein  Eigenthum, 
Da  ziehn  die  Sturme  rings  herum; 
Und  heulen  sie  von  Nord  und  Siid, 
So  iiberschallt  sie  doch  mein  Lied  : 
Ich  bin  der  Knab  vom  Berge  ! 

Sind  Blitz  und  Donner  unter  mir, 
So  steh'  ich  hoch  im  Blauen  hier  ; 
Ich  kenne  sie  und  rufe  zu  : 
Lasst  meines  Vaters  Haus  in  Ruh  ! 
Ich  bin  der  Knab  v  m  Berge  ! 

Und  wanndieSturmglock'  einst  erschallt, 
Manch  Feuer  auf  den  Bergen  wallt, 
Dann  steig'  ich  nieder,  tret'  ins  Glied  ; 
Und  schwing'  mein  Schwert,  und  sing' 

mein  Lied  : 
Ich  bin  der  Knab  vom  Berge  ! 


I  am  the  mountain  shepherd  boy, 
The  castles  all  below  I  see, 
The  sun's  first  glimpses  here  -ire  seen, 
And  linger  longest  here  with  me; 
I  am  the  mountain  boy  ! 

The  torrent  here  its  birthplace  finds, 
I  drink  from  out  its  stony  bed; 
It  frets  and  leaps  and  rushes  down, 
I  catch  it  with  my  arms  outspread; 
I  am  the  mountain  boy  ! 

The  mountain-height,  this  is  my  home, 
;?ere  sullen  storms  .round  me  '!y, 
And  howl  they  from  north  to  south, 
Still  o'er  them  all  you'll  hear  my  cry  : 
I  am  the  mountain  boy  ! 

When  thunders  roll  and  lightnings  flash, 
Here  stand  I  far  above  the  storm  ; 
I  know  them  well  and  quickly  call  : 
"Protect  my  father's  house  from  harm  !" 
I  am  the  mountain  boy  ! 

And  when  the  tocsin  once  resounds, 
And  mountain  fires  blaze  along, 
Then  I'll  descend  and  join  the  throng, 
And    swing    my    sword,    and    sing  my 

song  : 
I  am  the  mountain  bov  1 


Pie  ^immelS'Cljrdtte.— TI)e  Crystal  Tear. 


Der  Himmel  hat  eine  Thrane  geweint, 
Die  hat  sich  ins   Meer  zu  verlieren  ge- 

meint, 

Die  Muschel  kam  und  schloss  sie  em  : 
Du  sollst  nun  meine  Perle  sein. 

Du  sollst  nicht  vor  den  Wogen  zagen, 
Ich  will  hindurch  dich  ruhig  tragen  ; 
O,  du  mein  Schmefz,  du  meine  Lust, 
Du  I  {immelsthau  in  meiner  Brust ! 

Gieb    Himmel.  dass  ich  in   reinem  Ge~ 

miite, 
Den    einsten  deiner  Tropfen  hiite. 


The  heavens  -a  crystal  tear  once  shed,  , 
It  sought  its  grave  in  the  ocean's  bed. 
A  shell  enclosed  ihe  shining  sphere  : 
My  own  dear  pearl  shalt  thou  be  here. 

Thou  needst  not  fear  the  foam-flecked 

billow, 

My  breast  shall  be  thy  peaceful  pillow. 
O  thou,  my  grief!  thou,  my  delight ! 
A  gem  as  pure  as  heaven's  own  light. 

O   Heav'n,   let  me    guard    with    soulful 

emotion, 
Thy  purest  gifts  with  true  devotion. 


•13- 


<£s 


—  Tl)e 


From  "Stadt  und  Land" — A  Comedy  in  Upper- Austrian  Dialeft* 


FREDERICK    KAISER. 


's  Herz  is  a  g'spassigs  Ding, 

Oft  gar  so  sen  war,  oft  gring, 

Oft  is  so.  miiuserlstill, 

Oft  hammert's  wie  a  Miihl — 

Oft  thut's  am  wohl,  oft  wieder  schmerzen: 

Drum  glaub'  i  in  mein'  Sinn, 

's  sitzt  was  Lebendig's  drin 

Ganz  tief  im  Herzen. 


's  kann  sogar  dischkariern, 

Mitan  a  dischbadiern  ; 

I  hans  oft  gar  nit  g'fragt 

Und  's  hat  mir  do  was  g'sagt. 

Das  thut  am  kruseln  so  und  schlagen, 

's  sein  kani  Worter  zwar, 

's  redt  aber  deutli  klar, 

's  thut  am  Alles  sagen 

Und  nur  durch's  Schlagen. 


Jetzt  Mancher  sagt :  O  mein  ! 

Wie  kann  das  mogli  sein  ? 

Der  plauscht  sich  selber  an, 

A  bissel  g'spiirt  er's  schon, 

Er  mag  sich  d'  Wahrheit  selbst  nit  sagen, 

Do  hilfts  nit  g'schamig  sein, 

Der  droben  schaut  hinein, 

Dos  thut  dos  Schlagen 

Am  Jeden  sagen. 


's  gibt  Viel,  dos  gar  nit  hor'n, 

Warm  d'  Schlag  rebellisch  wern, 

Bei  do  is  Herz  ganz  weg, 

Is  nit  am  rechten  Fleck. 

Und  erst  ganz  spat  in  alten  Tagen 

Dan  g'spiirn  sie's  zentnerschwar 

Was  friiher  war  ganz  laar— 

In  alten  Tagen 

Thut's  weh  dos  Schlagen. 


Woher  dos  Schlagen  kiimmt, 

Das  wass  ma  halt  mit  b'stimmt. 

I  man  und  bild  mir  ein, 

's  wird  unser  Schutzgeist  sein, 

Der  thut  nit  seinen  Flugerln  schlagen, 

Und  wann  ma  genga  drauf, 

Tragt  er  die  Seel  hinauf, 

Thut  fur  an  Jeden 

Da  drobnet  reden. 


The  heart  is  a  curious  thing, 
Oft  sad,  oft  light  of  wing, 
Oft,  mouse-like,  'tis  so  still, 
Oft  hammers  like  a  mill — 
Oft  pleasure  gives,  with  pain  returning  ; 
Therefore  do  I  believe, 
Something  in  it  doth  live- 
So  deep  its  yearning. 


Discourse  it  e'en  can  do, 

Dispute  with  oneself,  too  ; 

Oft  have  I  nothing  sought, 

Yet  me  its  answer  brought. 

Inspired  it  was  with  fear,  and  beating; 

No  words  employed  to  teach, 

And  yet  how  clear  its  speech ; 

ft  tells  one  everything 

Only  by  beating. 


Now,  many  a  one  will  cry  : 

How  can  this  be  ?— Oh  my ! 

Deceive  himself  may  he, 

And  quickly  felt  'twill  be; 

From  himself  may  he  the  truth  be  keeping, 

Ashamed,  no  help  'twill  be, 

Within  the  heart  sees  He  ; 

This  does  the  beating, 

To  each  one  speaking. 


There  are  some  who  fail  to  hear 
When  the  beats  rebellious  are  ; 
With  such  the  heart's  quite  gone, 
At  th'  right  place  there  is  none. 
And  not  till  late  in  life,  that's  fleeting, 
They  feel  a  weight  so  sore 
Where  naught  had  been  before ; 
As  age  is  fleeting 
It  pains,  this  beating. 


From  whence  these  beatings  come 

Exactly  knows  no  one  ; 

It  must,  I  think,  you'll  see, 

Our  guardian-angel  be, 

That  with  his  snow-white  wings  is  beating; 

And  when  life's  end  we  mourn, 

The  soul's  by  him  upborne, 

For  each  good's  seeking 

Above  he's  pleading. 


•14- 


Hacf?  €mem  2llten  Ckbe.— After  An  Old  5on9'* 


JACOBI. 


Sagt,  wo  sind  die  Veilchen  bin, 
Die  so  freudig  gliinzten, 
Und  der  Blunien  Konigin 
Ihren  Weg  bekriinzten  ? 
"Jiingling,  ach  !  der  Lenz  entflieht ; 
"Diese  Veilchen  sind  verbliiht." 

Sagt,  wo  sind  die  Rosen  bin, 
Die  wir  singend  pfliickten, 
Als  sich  Hirt  und  Schiiferin 
Hut  und  Busen  schmiickten  ? 
"Miidchen.  acb  !  der  Sommer  flieht ; 
Diese  Rosen  sind  verbliiht." 

Fiihre  denn  zum  Biichlein  mi  h, 
Das  die  Veil  hen  triinkte, 
Das  mit  leisem  Murmelm  sich 
In  die  Thiiler  senkte. 
"Luft  und  Sonne  gliihten  sehr  ! 
"Jenes  Biichlein  ist  nicht  mehr." 

Bringe  denn  zur  Laube  mich, 
Wo  die  Rosen  standen, 
Wo  in  treuer  Liebe  sich 
Hirt  und  Miidchen  fanden. 
"Wind  und  Hagel  stiirmten  sehr  ; 
"Jene  Laube  griint  nicht  mehr." 

Sagt,  wo  ist  das  Miidchen  hin, 
Das.  weil  ich's  erblickte, 
Sich  mit  demuthvollem  Sinn 
Zu  den  Veilchen  biickte  ? 
"Jiingling  !  alle  Schonheit  flieht ; 
"Auch  das  MJidchen  ist  verbliiht." 

Sagt,  wo  ist  der  Sanger  hin, 
Der  auf  bunten  Wiesen 
Veilchen,  Ros'  und  Schaferin, 
Laub  und  Bach  gepriesen  ? 
"Madchen,  unser  Leben  flieht ; 
"Auch  der  Sanger  ist  verbliiht." 


Say,  whither  have  th'  violets  gone, 

That  erst  shone  serenely, 

And  that  made  a  pathway  bright 

For  the  rose  so  queenly? 

"Gentle  youth  !  the  spring  has  fled, 

"And  the  violets  now  are  dead." 

Say,  where  have  the  roses  gone 
Which  we  plucked  at  morning, 
Shepherdess  and  shepherd  deck'd, 
Hat  and  breast  adorning  ? 
"Maiden  dear  !  the  summer's  fled, 
"And  the  roses,  too,  are  dead." 

Lead  me  where  the  violets 
At  the  brook  were  drinking  ; 
Where  i'  the  vale,  too,  murmuring, 
The  stream  was  gently  sinking. 
"Brightly  glowed  both  sun  and  air, 
"Th'  brooklet  is  no  longer  there." 

Lead  me  to  arboreal  shade, 

Where,  'mid  roses  blooming, 

Th'  shepherd  and  his  gentle  maid 

Notes  of  love  were  tuning. 

"Wind  and  hailstorm  raged  with  pow*r, 

"Leafless  now  the  shady  bow'r." 

Say,  where  has  the  maiden  gone, 
Who  with  meekness  wending 
'M<>ng  the  flow'rs,  observed  I  there 
O'er  the  violets  bending  ? 
"Gentle  youth  !  all  beauty  dies  ; 
"Dead  there,  too,  the  maiden  lies." 

Say,  where  has  the  singer  gone, 
Who,  'mid  the  meadow's  flowers, 
Sang  of  roses,  violets,  too, 
Of  maidens,  brooks  and  bowers  ? 
"Maiden,  list  I  our  lives  flee  'way, 
"Silent  now  the  singer's  lay." 


IDanberer's 


—  Wander  er's  Ntgl)t  5 


GOETHE. 


Ueber  alien  Gipfeln 

Ist  Ruh, 
In  alien  Wipfeln 

Spiirest  du 
Kaum  einen  Hauch. 

Die  Voglein  schweigen  im  Walde, 

Warte  nur,  balde 
Ruhest  du  auch. 


Over  every  summit 

There's  rest ; 
Scarce  e'en  a  zephyr 

Th'  woodland's  crest 
Wafteth  to  thee. 

The  birdlings  are  hushed  in  their  song, 

Only  wait  !  ere  long 
At  rest  thou  It  be. 


IDte 


—15 

.—As  tl)e 


HEINE. 


Wie  der  Mond  sich  leuchtend  driinget 
Durch  den  dunkeln  Wolkenflor, 
Also  taucht  aus  dunkeln  Zeiten 
Mir  ein  lichtes  Bild  hervor. 

Sassen  All'  auf  dem  Verdecke, 
Fuhren  stolz  hinab  den  Rhein, 
Und  die  sommergriinen  Ufer 
Gliihn  im  Abendsonnenschein. 

Sinnend  sass  ich  zu  den  Fiissen 
Einer  Dame  schon  und  hold; 
In  ihr  liebes,  bleiches  Antlitz 
Spielt'  das  rothe  Sonnengold. 

Lauten  klangen,  Buben  sangen, 
Wunderbare  Frohlichkeit ! 
Und  der  Himmel  wurde  blauer, 
Und  die  Seele  wurde  weit. 

Marchenhaft  voriiberzogen 
Berg'  und  Burgeri,  Wald  und  Au; — 
Und  das  Alles  sah  ich  gliinzen 
In  dem  Aug'  der  schonen  Frau. 


[  As  the  moon  with  sudden  brightness 
Flashes  through  the  clouds  its  light, 
So  through  days  almost  forgotten 
Comes  a  vision  fair  and  bright. 

On  the  deck  we  all  were  seated, 
Proudly  sailing  down  the  Rhine, 
And  the  banks,  in  summer  verdure, 
Glow'd  in  evening's  sun,  like  wine. 

At  a  lady's  feet  I  sat  me, 
Fair  her  features  to  behold  ; 
On  her  pale  and  beauteous  visage 
Play'd  the  rosy  sunlight's  gold. 

Lutes  were  sounding,  youths  were  singing, 
Festal  joys  held  queenly  reign; 
And  the  sky  grew  more  cerulean, 
Fuller  still  the  soul  became. 

Hill  and  castle,  wood  and  meadow, 
Pass'd  like  fairy  visions  bright ; 
And  the  scene  I  saw  reflected 
In  that  lady's  eyes  of  light. 


Das 


.—  Tl>e 


HEINE. 


Das  Meer  erglanzte  weit  hinaus, 

Im  letzten  Abendscheine  ; 
Wir  sassen  am  einsamen  Fischerhaus, 

Wir  sassen  stumm  und  alleine. 

Der  Nebel  stieg,  das  Wasser  schwoll, 
Die  Move  flog  hin  und  wieder  ; 

Aus  deinen  Augen  liebevoll 
Fielen  die  Thranen  nieder 

Ich  sah  sie  fallen  auf  deine  Hand, 
Und  bin  auf's  Knie  gesunken  ; 

Ich  hab'  von  deiner  weissen  Hand, 
Die  Thranen  fortgetrunken 

Seit  jener  Stunde  verzehrt  sich  mein  Leib, 
Die  Seele  stirbt  vor  Sehnen;  — 

Mich  hat  das  ungiucksel'ge  Weib 
Vergiftet  mit  ihren  Thranen. 


Quite  radiant  was  the  distant  sea 
With  evening's  parting  beams  ; 

By  fisher's  lonely  cot  sat  we 
In  silence  and  in  dreams. 

The  mists  arose,  the  waters  swelPd, 
And  gulls  flew  far  and  near  ; 

From  out  thine  eyes,  so  full  of  love, 
Dropp'd  many  a  silent  tear. 

I  saw  them  falling  on  your  hand, 

And  sank  upon  my  knee; 
I  drank  from  off  thy  snow-white  hand 

The  tears  you  shed  for  me. 

Since  that  sad  hour  I've  pined  away, 
My  soul  with  longing  dies; — 

That  wretched  maid  hath  poisoned  me 
With  her  envenomed  eyes. 


Zttein  fjer3  tft  am  Htjetne.— 1\^  Heart's  on  tl)e  RI)ine. 


WOLFGANG   MUELLER. 


Mein  Herz  ist  am  Rheine,  im  heimischen 

Land! 
Mein  Herz  ist  am  Rhein,  wo  die  Wiege 

mir  stand, 
Wo  die  Jjugend  mir  liegt.  wo  die  Freunde 

mir  bliihn, 
Wo  die  Liebste  mein  denket  mit  won- 

nigem  Gliihn, 
O   wo  ich   geschwelget  in  Liedern  und 

Wein  : 
Wo  ich  bin,  wo  ich  gehe,  mein  Herz  ist 

am  Rhein  ! 


Dich  griiss  ich,  du  breiter,  griingoldiger 

Strom, 
Euch  Schlosser  und   Dorfer  und  Stiidte 

und  Dom, 
Ihr  goldenen  Saaten  im    schwellenden 

Thai, 

Dich  Rebengebirge  im  sonnigen  Strahl, 
Euch  Wiilder  und  Schluchten,  dich  Fel- 

sengestein, 
Wo  ich  bin   wo  ich  gehe,  mein  Herz  ist 

am  Rhein  ' 


Dich  griiss  ich,  o  Leben    mit  sehnender 

Brust, 
Beim  Liede.   beim  Weinc,  beim  Tanze 

die  Lust, 
Dich  griiss  ich,  o  theures,  o  wackres  Ge- 

schlecht, 
Die  Frauen  so  wonnig,  die  Manner  so 

recht ! 
Eu'r  Streben,  eu'r  Leben,  o  mog'  es  ge- 

deihn  : 
Wo  ich  bin  wo  ich  gehe,  mein  Herz  ist 

am  Rhein  ! 


Mein  Herz  ist  am  Rheine,  im  heimischen 

Land! 
Mein  Herz  ist  am  Rhein.  wo  die  Wiege 

mir  stand  ; 
Wo  die  Jugend  mir  liegt,  wo  die  Freunde 

mir  bliihn, 
Wo  die  Liebste  mein  denket  mit  won- 

nigem  Gliihn  ! 

O  moget  ihr  immer  dieselben  mir  sein  ! 
Wo  ich  bin   w  •  ich  gehe,  mein  Herz  ist 

am  Rhein  ! 


My   heart's   on  the   Rhine,    in  my  own 

native  land  ! 
Where  my  cradle  was  rocked  by  a  dear 

mother's  hand, 
Where  youth's  pleasures  lay,  and  where 

friends  bloom  around, 
Where  th'  heart  of  my  love  beats  with 

rapturous  bound, 
O  where  I  have  revelled  in  song  and  in 

wine  : 
Wherever  I  wander,  my  heart's  on  the 

Rhine  ! 


I  greet  thee,  broad  stream,  in  thy  green- 
golden  flow, 

Ye  grain  fields  of  gold  in  the  valley 
below, 

Ye  castles  and  hamlets  and  domes  in  the 
sky! 

Ye  woods  and  ravines,  and  ye  cliffs 
tow' ring  high, 

Ye  hills,  too,  all  clad  with  the  sun-illum'd 
vine, 

Wherever  I  wander,  my  heart's  on  the 
Rhine ! 


I  greet  thee,  O  life,  and  my  heart  yearns 

for  thee 
In  th'  dance,  in  the  cup,  or  the  song's 

merry  glee, 
My  dearly  loved  race,  these,  my  greetings 

to  you, 
The  maidens  so  bright,    and  the    men 

tried  and  true ! 
Your  struggles,  your  lives,  may  success 

them  entwine  : 
Wherever  I  wander,  my  heart's  on  the 

Rhine  ! 


My  heart's  on  the   Rhine,    in  my  own 

native  land  ! 
Where  my  cradle  was  rocked  by  a  dear 

mother's  hand, 
Where  youth's  pleasures  lay,  and  where 

friends  bloom  around, 
Where  th'  heart  of  my  love  beats  with 

rapturous  bound, 
O  may  evermore  these  same  treasures  be 

mine  : 
Wherever  I  wander,  my  heart's  on    the 

Rhine  ! 


-17- 


(5ute  Hadjt— (iood  Niglyt. 


GEIBEL. 


Schon  fangt  es  an  zu  dammern, 
Der  Mond  als  Hirt  erwacht 
Und  singt  den  Wolkenlammern 
Ein  Lied  zur  guten  Nacht ; 
Und  wie  er  singt  so  leise, 
Da  dringt  vom  Sternenkreise 
Der  Schall  ins  Ohr  mir  sacht : 

Schlafet  in  Ruh',  schlafet  in  Ruh'! 

Vpriiber  der  Tag  und  sein  Schall ; 

Die  Liebe  Gottes  deckt  euch  zu 

Alliiberall. 


Nun  suchen  in  den  Zweigen 
Ihr  Nest  die  Vogelein, 
Die  Halm'  und  Blumen  neigen 
Das  Haupt  im  Mondenschein, 
Und  selbst  des  Miihlbach's  Wellen 
Lassen  das  wilde  Schwellen 
Und  schlammern  murmelnd  ein. 

Schlafet  in  Ruh',  schlafet  in  Ruh'! 

Voriiber  der  Tag  und  sein  Schall ; 

Die  Liebe  Gottes  deckt  euch  zu 

Alluberall. 


Von  Thiir  zu  Thiire  wallet 
Der  Traum,  ein  lieber  Gast, 
Das  Harfenspiel  verhallet 
Im  schimmernden  Palast, 
Im  Nachen  schlaft  der  Ferge, 
Die  Hirten  auf  dem  Berge 
Halten  urns  Feuer  Rast. 

Schlafet  in  Ruh',  schlafet  in  Ruh'! 

Voriiher  der  Tag  und  sein  Schall ; 

Die  Liebe  Gottes  deckt  euch  zu 

Alluberall. 


Und  wie  nun  alle  Kerzen 
Verloschen  durch  die  Nacht, 
Da  schweigen  auch  die  Schmerzen 
Die  Sonn'  und  Tag  gebracht ; 
Lind  sauseln  die  Cypressen, 
Ein  seliges  Vergessen 
Durchweht  die  Liifte  sacht. 

Schlafet  in  Ruh\  schlafet  in  Ruh'! 

Voriiber  der  Tag  und  sein  Schall ; 

Die  Liebe  Gottes  deckt  euch  zu 

Alluberall. 


I  The  shepherd  moon  is  waking 
'  As  day  fades  into  night, 
And  to  the  clouds,  his  lambkins, 
He  sings  a  sweet  "Good  Night." 
And  as  I  hear  him  singing, 
From  stars  come  faintly  ringing 
A  sound  in  accents  light  : 

Slumber  in  peace,  slumber  in  peace  ! 

All  over  the  day  and  its  sound  ; 

The  Father's  love  will  cover  you  all 
»    Wherever  found. 


Now  seeks  within  the  branches 
The  bird  its  cosy  nest, 
The  stately  stalk  and  flower 
Each  bends  its  moonlit  crest. 
And  e'en  the  brook's  swift  waters, 
As  bright  as  earth's  fair  daughters, 
Submissive  sink  to  rest. 

Slumber  in  peace,  slumber  in  peace  ! 

All  over  the  day  and  its  sound  ; 

The  Father's  love  will  cover  you  all 

Wherever  found. 


Sweet  dreams,  like  welcome  guests, 
Now  go  from  door  to  door, 
Within  the  glittering  palace 
Is  heard  the  harp  no  more. 
Around  the  campfire,  nesting, 
The  shepherds  now  are  resting, 
Sleeps  the  boatman  at  his  oar. 

Slumber  in  peace,  slumber  in  peace  ! 

All  over  the  day  and  its  sound  ; 

The  Father's  love  will  cover  you  all 

Wherever  found. 


And  as  each  glittering  taper 

Is  extinguished  through  the  night, 

The  pains  which  each  day  brings  us 

Now  seem  to  take  their  flight 

Soft  airs  through  trees  come  stealing, 

A  bless'd,  oblivious  feeling 

Pervades  the  balmy  night. 

Slumber  in  peace,  slumber  in  peace  ! 

All  over  the  day  and  its  sound  ; 

The  Father's  love  will  cover  you  all 

Wherever  found. 


-18- 


Und  wo  von  heissen  Thranen 
Ein  schmachtend  Auge  bliiht, 
Und  wo  in  bangem  Sehnen 
Ein  liebend  Herz  vergliiht, 
Der  Traum  kommt  leis'  und  linde 
Und  singt  dem  kranken  Kinde 
Ein  trostend  Hoffnungslied. 

Schlafet  in  Ruh',  schlafet  in  Ruh'! 

Vpriiber  der  Tag  und  sein  Schall ; 

Die  Liebe  GotteS  deckt  euch  zu 

Alliiberall. 


Gut  Nacht  denn,  all  ihr  Miiden, 
Ihr  Lieben  nah  und  fern  ! 
Nun  ruh'  auch  ich  in  Frieden, 
Bis  glanzt  der  Morgenstern. 
Die  Nachtigall  alleine 
Singt  noch  im  Mondenscheine 
Und  lobet  Gott,  den  Herrn. 

Schlafet  in  Ruh',  schlafet  in  Ruh'! 

Vpriiber  der  Tag  und  sein  Schall ; 

Die  Liebe  Gottes  deckt  euch  zu 

Alliiberall. 


And  when  the  burning  tear-drops 
From  languid  eyes  do  start, 
And  when  from  anxious  craving 
No  longer  glows  the  heart, 
With  music  nigh  elysian, 
To  the  sick  child  comes  a  vision,  - 
Sweet  comfort  to  impart. 

Slumber  in  peace,  slumber  in  peace  1 

All  over  the  day  and  its  sound  ; 

The  Father's  love  will  cover  you  all 

Wherever  fonnd. 

Good  night,  then,  all  ye  weary, 
Ye  lov'd  ones,  far  and  near  ! 
In  peace  I'll,  too,  rest  sweetly, 
Till  the  morning  stars  appear. 
The  nightingale  is  singing, 
And  to  the  Lord  is  ringing 
Its  praises  sweet  and  clear. 

Slumber  in  peace,  slumber  in  peace  ! 

All  over  the  day  and  its  sound  ; 

The  Father's  love  will  cover  you  all 

Wherever  found. 


Dineta.— Vineta. 


WILHELM   MUELLER. 


Aus  des  Meeres  tiefem,  tiefem  Grunde 
Klingen  Abendglocken  dumpf  und  matt, 
Uns  zu  geben  wunderbare  Kunde 
Von  der  schonen  alten  Wunderstadt. 

In  der  Fluthen  Schoos  hina">gesunken 
Blieben  unten  ihre  Triimmer  stehn  ; 
Ihre  Zinnen  lassen  goldne  Funken 
Wiederscheinend  auf  dem  Spiegel  sehn. 

UndderSchifTer,  der  den  Zauberschimmer 
Einmal  sah  im  hellen  Abendroth, 
Nach  derselben  Stelle  schifift  er  immer, 
Ob  auch  rings  umher  die  Klippe  droht. 

Aus  des  Herzens  tiefem,  tiefem  Grunde 
Klingt  es  mir,  wie  Glocken,  dumpf  und 

matt, 

Ach,  sie  geben  wunderbare  Kunde 
Von  der  Liebe,  die  geliebt  es  hat. 

Fine  schone  Welt  ist  da  versunken, 
Ihre  Triimmer  blieben  unten  stehn, 
Lassen  sich  als  goldne  Himmelsfunken 
Oft  im  Spiegel  meiner  Triiume  sehn. 

Und  dann  mocht  ich  tauchen  in  die  Tiefen, 
Mich  versenken  in  den  Wiederschein, 
Und  mir  ist,  als  ob  mich  Engel  riefen 
In  die  aite  Wunderstadt  herein. 


Out  of  ocean's  depths  profound  resound- 
ing. 

Evening  bells  are  ringing  dull  and  faint, 
Telling,  in  their  wondrous  revelations, 
Of  the  wonder  city,  old  and  quaint. 

'Neath    the    ocean's    glittering    bosom 

sunken, 

Ruins  of  that  city  still  remain  ; 
Sparks  of  gold  emitted  from  its  turrets 
Shine  enmirrored  on  the  glassy  main. 

And  the  sailor  who,  at  evening  twilight, 
First  beholds  this  magic  sight  appear, 
Ever  after  steers  his  vessel  thither, 
Though  the  rocks  around  are  threatening 
here. 

From    the    human    heart's    profoundest 

soundings 

Hear  I  tones  like  bells,  so  sad  and  low  ; 
Ah  !  they  seem  to  tell  a  wondrous  story 
Of  the  one  it  loved  so  long  ago. 

What    a    beauteous    world    beneath     is 

sunken, 

Ruins  of  it  all  make  up  the  scene  ; 
Oftimes   golden    gleams    from     heaven 

glimm'ring 
On  the  mirror  of  my  dreams  are  seen. 

Then  into  the  ocean's  depths  descending, 
Would  I  sink  into  those  mirrored  deeps, 
And  I  seem  to  hear  the  angels  calling 
Down  to  where  the  wonder  city  sleeps. 


.— 5ea  Greeting. 


Thalatta  !  Thalatta  ! 
Sei  mir  gegriisst.  du  ewiges  Meer  ! 
Sei  mir  gegriisst  zehntausendmal 
Aus  jauchzendem  Herzen, 
Wie  einst  dich  begriissten 
Zehntausend  Griechenherzen, 


HEINE. 

Thalatta  !  Thalatta  ! 
I  hail  thee.  thou  everlasting  Sea  ! 
Be  thou  greeted  ten  thousand  times, 
With  rapturous  emotion, 
As  once  thou  wert  greeted 
[ende.  j  By  ten  thousand  Grecian  hearts,   [home, 


Ungliickbekampfende,       heimatverlang-    Combating  misfortune,    and    longing   for 
Weltberiihmte  Griechenherzen.  World-renowned,  trustful,  Grecian  hearts. 


Es  vvogten  die  Flu  ten, 

Sie  vvogten  und  t^rausten, 

Die  Sonne  goss  eilig  herunter, 

Die  spielenden  Rosenlichter. 

Die  auf  escheucht-  n  Movenziige 

Flatterten  fort,  lautschreiend, 

Es  stampften  die  Rosse,    es  klirrten  die  j 

Schilde, 

Und  weithin  erscholles  wie  Siegesruf : 
"Thalatta  !     Thalatta  !  ' 


Sei  mir  gegriisst,  du  ewiges  Meer, 

Wie  Sprache  der  Heimat  rauscht  mir  dein 

Wasser, 
Wie    Traume    der   Kindheit  sah    ich  es 

flimmern 

Anf deinem  wogenden  Wassergebiet, 
Und  alte  Erinnrung  erziihlt  mir  ;iufs  netie 
Von  all  dem  lieben,  herrlichen  Spielzeug. 
Von  all  den  blinkenden  Weihnachtsgaben 
Von  alt  den  roten  Korallenbaumen 
Goldfischchen,      Perlen      und      bunten 

Mucheln, 

Die  du  geheimnisvoll  bewahrst 
Dort  unten  im  klaren  Krystallhaus. 


O!  wie  oft  hab'  ich  geschmachtet  in  oder 

Fremde  ! 

Gleich  einer  welken  Blume 
In  des  Botankiers  blecherner  Kapsel 
Lag  mir  das  Herz  in  der  Brust  ; 
Mir  ist,  als  sass  ich  winterlange, 
Ein  Kranker,  in  dunkler  Krankenstube, 
Und  nun  verlass  ich  sie  plotzlich, 
Und  blendend  strahlt  mir  entgegen 
Der   smaragdene  Friihling,    der  sonnen- 

geweckte, 

Und  es  rauschen  die  weissen  Bb'itenbaume, 
Und  diejungen  Blumen  schauen  mich  an 
Mit  bunten,  duftenden  Augen, 
Und  es  duftet  und  summt  und  atmet  und 

lacht 
Und  im  blauen  Him  melsingen  die  Vog- 

lein — 
Thalatta  !     Thalatta  ! 


The  billows  were  rolling, 

Were  roll  ing  and  roaring; 

The  radiant  sun  soon  cast  o'er  them 

A  floe  d  of  roseate  splendor; 

The  rising    frightened  trains  of  sea  gulls 

Fluttered  away,  loud  screaming  ; 

The    steeds    they    were    stamping,    the 

armor  was  clanging, 
And  far  it  re-echoed  like  a  victor's  cry  : 
Thalatta  !  Thalatta  ! 


I  greet  thee,  thou  everlasting  Sea  ! 

Like  sweet  sounds  from  home  is  the  rush 

of  thy  waters  ; 
Like  dreams  of  my  childhood,   see  I  the 

glimmer 

On  thy  billowy,  watery  world  ; 
A  nd  memories  old  seem  to  be  telling  anew 
Of  all  the  charming,  beautiful  playthings, 
Of  all  the  glittering  gifts  of  Christmas, 
Of  all  the  trees  of  encrimsoned  coral, 
Gold  fishes  and  pearls  and  colored  sea- 
shells, 

Which  thou  dost  so  mysteriously  keep 
Down  there  in  thy  house  of  clear  crystal. 


O! 


in 


how   much   have  I  longed   when 

distant  lands  ! 
i  Like  to  a  withered  flower 
I  In  a  botanist's  close-covered  case  of  tin, 
|  Lay  this  sad  heart  in  m     breast  ; 
i  Seemingly  as  if  I  had  sat  the  winter  long 
A  sick  man   in  a  darkened  chamber, 
And  had  now  left  it  instantly. 
And.  blinded   beaming  before  me 
Comes  emerald  Spring,  just  waked  by  the 
sun,  [rustling. 

And  the  white   tree  blossoms   are  gently 
And  the  fair  flowrets  look  at  me 
With  colored,  perfume-laden  eyes, 
Exhaling   and  humming,   and  breathing 

and  smiling  ; 
And   in   the  blue   heaven   the  birds  are 

singing — 
!  Thalatta  !  Thalatta  ! 


Da  tapferes  Riickzugherz  ! 

Wie  oft,  wie  bitteroit 

Bedriingten  dich  des   Nordens   Barbarin- 

nen  ! 

Aus  grossen,  siegenden  Augen 
Schos  en  sie  brennende  Pfeile  ; 
Mit  krummgeschliffenen  Worten 
Drohten  sie  mir  die  B-ust  zu  spalten  ; 
Mit  Keilschrifthillets  zerschlugen  sie  mir 
Das  Arme,  betiiubte  Gehirn— 
Vergebens  hielt  ich  den  Schild  entgegen, 
Die  Pfeile  zischten,  die  Hiebe  krachten; 
Und  von  des  Nordens  Barbarinnen 
Ward  ich  gedriinkt  bis  ans  Meer. 
Das  Hebe,  rettende  Meer, 
Thalatta  !  Thalatta  ! 


Thou  brave,  retreating  heart  ! 

How  oft,  how  bitter  oft 

Oppressed    thee     have     the     barbarous 

northern  dames  ! 
Four  large  and  conquering  eyes 
Shot  swiftly  their  arrows  of  fire; 
With  words  both  artful  and  polished 
Threatened    they  my  tender    breast  to 

cleave; 

With  cuneiform  letters  fiercely  they  smote 
My  poor,  my  bewildered  brain 
In  vain  I  held  the  shield  against  them; 
The   arrows    hissed,    the    strokes    swift 

crashing  came 

And  by  the  barbarous  northern  dames 
Was  I  driven  at  last  to  the  sea. 
With  a  free  breath  I  greet  thee,  thou  sea! 
Thou  beloved,  rescuing  Sea. 
Thalatta!  Thalatta! 


Die  Spmnerin. — Tl)e 


voss. 


Ich  sass  und  spann  vor  meiner  Thiir, 
Da  kam  einjunger  Mann  gegangen, 
Sein  braunes  Auge  lachte  mir, 
Und  rother  gliithen  seine  Wangen. 
Ich  sah  vom  Rocken  auf, und  sann,  [spann 
Und    sass    verschamt,    und   spann    und 


Gar  freundlich  bot  er  guten  Tag, 

Und  trat  mit  holder  Scheu  mir  nuher. 

Mir  ward  so  angst ;  der  Faden  br  ?ch  ; 

Das  Herz  im  Busen  schlug  mer  hoher. 

Betroffen  kniipft'  ich  wieder  an, 

Und  sass  verschamt,  und  spann  und  spann. 


Lie  kosend  driicket'  er  mir  die  Hand. 
Und  sch wur  dass  keine  Hand  ihr  gleiche, 
Die  schonste  nicht  im  ganzen  Land, 
AnSchwanenweiss'  und  Rund'und  Weiche 
Wie  sehr  dies  Lob   mein   Herz  gewann  ; 
Ich  sass  verschamt,  und  spann  und  spann. 


Auf  meinen  Stuhl  lehnt'  er  den  Arm, 
Und  riihmte  sehr  das  feinde  Fiidchen. 
Sein  naher  Miind,  so  roth  und  warm. 
Wie  zsirtli  h  haucht'  er  ;  Susses  Miidchen  ! 
Wie  blickte  mich  sein  Auge  an  ! 
Ich  sass  verschiimt,  und  spann  und  spann. 


I  sat  and  spun  before  my  door, 
A  youth  came  walking  up  the  road  ; 
His  deep  brown  eyes  were  full  of  glee, 
His  cheeks  with  crimson  blu  hes  glowed. 
From  distaff  I  looked  up  at  him, 
Abashed,  I  did  but  spin  and  spin. 


Quite  friendly  he  his  greeting  made. 
And  closer  came,  with  tim'rous  grace. 
I  fri.-.htened  grew  ;  the  thread  it  broke 
My  heart  it  beat  with  quicker  pace. 
Perplexed  I  'gain  the  thread  tied  on, 
And  sat  abashed,  and  spun  and  spun. 


Caressingly  he  pressed  my  hand, 

And  swore  none  could  with  it  compare, 

Not  e'en  the  fairest  in  the  land. 

So  white  and  round   so  soft  and  fair. 

This  lavish  praise  my  heart  soon  won  ; 

I  sat  abashed,  and  spun  and  spun 

He  leaned  his  arm  upon  my  chair, 
And  praised  the  fineness  of  the  thread. 
His  rosy  lips,  so  warm  and  near, 
How  softly  -'Gentle  maid  !"  they  said. 
His  eyes  they  glanced  like  love's  own  sun  ! 
I  sat  abashed,  and  spun  and  spun. 


21 


Indess  an  meiner  Wange  her 

Sein  schones  Angesicht  sich  bnckte, 

Begegnet'  ihm  von  Ohngefahr 

Mein  Haupt,  das  sanft  im  Spinnen  nickte. 

Da  kiisste  mich  der  schone  Mann 

Ich  sass  verschivmt,  und  spann  and  spann. 


Mit  grossem  Ernst  verwies  ich'  ihm  ; 
Doch  ward  er  kiihner  stets  und  freier, 
Unarmte  mich  met  Ungestum, 
Und  kiissste  mich  so  roth  wie  Feuer. 
O  sagt  mir,  Schwestern.  sagt  mir  an  : 
War's  moglich,  dass  ich  weiter  spann  ? 


As  he  towards  my  cheek  bent  down 
His  winsome  face,  so  lovely  grown, 
And  as  my  head  kept  nodding  on, 
His  cheek  so  softly  touched  my  own. 
He  kissed  me  then,  this  charming  man, 
Abashed  I  sat,  the  wheel  still  ran. 


In  earnest  tones  rebuked  I  him, 

But,  bolder  grown,  he  came  still  nigher  ; 

Impetuously  he  clasped  me  now, 

And  kissed  my  cheeks  as  red  as  fire. 

Oh,  tell  me  sister,  if  you  can, 

Could  you  have  kept  on  spinning  then  ;> 


Der  Knabe  mit  bent  tt)unbet>f}orn. — TI)e  VToatl)  and  His 

Wonder-Horn. 


GEIBEL. 


Ich  bin  ein  lust'ger  Geselle, 
Wer  konnt'  auf  Erden  frohlicher  sein  ! 
Mein  Rosslein  so  helle,  so  helle, 
Das  tragt  mich  mit  Windeschnelle 
Ins  bliihende  Leben  hinein — 

Trara  ! 
Ins  bliihende  Leben  hinein. 

Es  tont  an  meinem  Munde 

Ein  silbernes  Horn  von  siissem  Schall, 

Es  tont  wohl  manche  Stunde, 

Von  Fels  und  Wald  in  der  Runde 

Antwortet  der  Widerhall — 

Trara  ! 
Antwortet  der  Widerhall. 

Und  komm'  ich  zu  festlichen  Tanzen, 
Zu  Scherz  und  Spiel  im  sonnigen  Wald, 
Wo  schmachtende  Augen  mir  glanzen 
Und  Blumen  den  Becher  bekriinzen, 
Da  schwing'  ich  vom  Ross  mich  alsbald — 

Trara  ! 
Da  schwing'  ich  vom  Ross  mich  alsbald 

Suss  lockt  die  Guitarre  zum  Reigen, 
Ich   kiisse  die  Madchen,  ich  trinke  den 

Wein  ; 

Doch  will  hinter  bliihenden  Zweigen 
Die  purpurne  Sonne  sich  neigen, 
Da  muss  es  geschieden  sein — 

Trara  ! 
Da  muss  es  geschieden  sein. 

Es  zieht  mich  hinaus  in  die  Feme  ; 
Ich  gebe  dem  fliichtigen  Rosse  den  Sporn. 
Ade  !  Wohl  blieb'  ich  noch  gerne. 
Doch  winken  schon  andere  Sterne, 
Und  griissend  vertonet  das  Horn,— 

Trara  ! 
Und  griissend  vertonet  das  Horn. 


I  am  a  jolly  good  fellow, 

Who  could  on  earth  well  happier  be  ! 

My  palfrey's  as  light  as  a  hind, 

It  carries  me  swift  as  the  wind 

Into  a  blooming  life,  you  see — 

Trara  ! 
Into  a  blooming  life,  you  see. 

My  lips  intone  with  power 

A  silver  trumpet  of  sweetest  sound, 

It  lingers  many  an  hour  ; 

From  rock  and  wood  and  from  bower 

Comes  back  the  echoing  sound — 

Trara  ! 
Comes  back  the  echoing  sound. 

And  go  I  to  feast  and  to  dancing, 
To  sport  and  play,  in  sun-illumed  wood, 
Where  fond,  longing  eyes  look  entrancing, 
And  garlands  'round  beakers  are  glancing, 
I  quickly  dismount,  as  I  shold, 

Trara  ! 
I  quickly  dismount,  as  I  should. 

Allures  the  guitar  now  the  dancers,  [wine, 
I  kiss  the  sweet  maidens,  I  drink,  too,  the 
But  back  of  the  branches,  yet  shining, 
The  purple-red  sun  is  declining. 
Then  must  I  be  gone  in  time — 

Trara  ! 
Then  must  I  be  gone  in  time. 

It  draws  me  'way  out  in  the  distance, 

I  give  to  my  fleet  horse  the  spur,  like  a 

thorn, 

I'm  loth  from  these  joys  to  be  shrinking, 
But,  see,  other  stars  are  now  winking, 
And  greetings  flow  out  of  my  horn — 

Trara  ! 
And  greetings  flow  out  of  my  horn. 


-22- 


,  u>ie  tft's  moglicl?  bann.— OI),  On  it  Ever  be  ? 


VOLKSLIED. 


Ach,  wie  ist's  moglich  dann, 
Dass  ich  dich  lassen  kann  ; 
Hab'  dich  von  Herzen  lieb, 

Das  glaube  mir  ! 
Du  hast  das  Herze  mein 
So  ganz  genommen  ein, 
Dass  ich  kein  andre  lieb', 

Als  dich  allein. 

Blau  ist  ein  Bliimelein, 

Das  heisst  Vergiss-nicht-mein; 

Dies  Bliimlein  leg'  ans  Herz 

Und  denk  an  mich  ! 
Stirbt  Blum'  und  Hoffnung  gleich, 
Sind  wir  an  Liebe  reich; 
Dass  sie  stirbt  nie  bei  mir, 

Das  glaube  mir. 

War'  ich  ein  Vogelein, 
Wollt  ich  bald  bei  dir  sein, 
Scheut'  Falk  und  Habicht  nicht, 

Flog'  schnell  zu  dir  ! 
S  :hoss  mich  ein  Jiiger  tot, 
Kiel  ich  in  deinen  Schoos  ! 
Siihst  du  mich  traurig  an, 

Gern  stiirb'  ich  dann  ! 


Oh,  can  it  ever  be 

That  I  must  part  from  thee  ? 

Thou  art  my  heart's  true  love — 

This  doubt  not  me. 
Thou  hast  this  heart  of  mine  ; 
It  is  so  wholly  thine 
That  I  no  other  love 

Save  only  thee. 

Blue  is  a  flow'ret,  famed, 
Forget  me-not  'tis  named; 
Lay  it  upon  thy  heart, 

And  think  of  me  ! 
Though  flower  and  hope  may  flee, 
Yet  rich  in  love  are  we  ; 
Believe  'twill  never  die, 

But  live  for  aye. 


If  little  bird  were  I, 

To  thee  I  soon  would  hie, 

I'd  fear  no  falcon  nigh. 

But  fly  to  thee. 
If  hit  by  huntsman's  ball 
Into  thy  lap  I'd  fall! 
Should  sorrow  dim  thine  eye, 

I'd  gladly  die. 


Die  Setenbe. — Tl)e  Prating  One. 


FRIEDRICH   VON    MATTHISON. 


Laura  betet !  Engelharfen  h alien 
Frieden  Gottes  in  ihr  krankes  Herz, 
Und  wie  Abel's  Opferdiifte,  wallen 
Ihre  Seufzer  himmelwiirts. 

Wie  sie  kniet,  in  Andacht  hingegossen, 
Schon,  wie  Raphael  die  Unschuld  malt ! 
VomVerklarungsglanze  schon  umflossen, 
Der  um  Himmelswohner  strahlt. 

O  sie  fiihlt,  im  leisen,  linden  Wehen, 
Froh  der  Hocherhabnen  Gegenwart, 
Sieht  im  Geiste  schon  die  Palmenhohen, 
Wo  der  Lichtkranz  ihrer  harrt  ! 

So  von  Andacht,  so  von  Gottvertrauen 
Ihre  engelreine  Brust  geschwellt, 
Betend  diese  Heilige  zu  schauen, 
Ist  ein  Blick  in  jene  Welt. 


Laura's  praying  !  Angels'  harps  resound- 
ing,   "  [send, 
Peace  to  her  poor,  grieving  heart  doth 
And.  like  Abel's  offering,  sweetly  rising, 
Do  her  sighs  toward  heav:n  ascend. 

As  she  kneels,  outpouring  her  devotions, 
Sweet,  as  Raphael  paints  pure  innocence, 
'Round  her  flows  a  light  of  heavenly 
As  from  out  celestial  tents,  [splendor. 

O  she  feels,  amid  the  gentle  breezes, 
Glad,  indeed,  for  presence  so  divine  ! 
Sees,  in  spirit,  th'  palmy  heights  uplifted, 
Where  her  radiant  crown  doth  shine  ! 

So  from  trust  in  Him  and  from  devotion, 
Swelleth  now  her  pure  angelic  breast ; 
Praying,  this  holy  one  a  vision  seemeth 
From  the  regions  of  the  blest. 


-23- 


IDanberscfyaft — Wandering, 


WILHELM    MUELLER. 


Das  Wandern  ist  des  Miiller's  Lust, 
Das  Wandern  ! 

Das  muss  ein  schlechter  Miiller  sein, 
Dem  niemals  fiel  das  Wandern  ein, 
Das  Wandern. 

Vom  Wasser  haben  wir's  gelernt, 
Vom  Wasser ! 

Das  hat  nicht  Rast  bei  Tag  und  Nacht, 
Ist  stets  auf  Wanderschaft  bedacht, 
Das  Wasser. 

Das  sehn  wir  auch  den  Radern  ab, 

Den  Radern  ! 

Die  gar  nicht  gerne  stille  stehn, 

Die  sich  mein  Tag  nicht  miide  drehn, 

Die  Riider. 

Die  Steine  selbst,  so  schwer  sie  sind, 
Die  Steine  ! 

Sie  tanzen  mit  den  muntern  Reihn, 
Und  wollen  gar  noch  schneller  sein, 
Die  Steine. 


O  Wandern,  Wandern,  meine  Lust, 
O  Wandern  ! 

Herr  Meister  und  Frau  Meisterin, 
Lasst  mich  im  Frieden  weiter  ziehn 
Und  Wandern. 


Wandering  is  the  miller's  joy, 

Wandering  ! 

He  must  a  poor  base  miller  be, 

Who  ne'er  hath  felt  like  wandering;  free 

TIT  i         .  O         »*wj 

Wandering. 

From  water  have  we  learned  it  thus, 
From  water  ! 

This  has  no  rest  by  day  nor  night, 
Is  wand' ring  ever  out  of  sight, 
This  water. 

This  dp  we  at  the  mill-wheels  see, 
The  mill-wheels  ! 

They  don't  care  to  be  standing  still, 
Nor  weary  they  to  turn  the  mill, 
The  mill-wheels. 

The  stones  themselves  so  heavy  are, 
The  stones  are  ! 

They  whirl  and  dance  at  lively  rate, 
And  yet  would  like  a  swifter  gait, 
The  stones  would. 

O  wand'ring,  wand'ring  is  my  joy, 
O  wand'ring  ! 

O  master  and  you,  mistress,  too, 
Let  me  in  peace  depart  from  you, 
And  wander. 


CeufoTu— To  Lecicon. 


GLEIM. 


Rosen  pfliicke»  Rosen  bluhn, 
Morgen  ist  nicht  heut  ! 
Keine  Stunde  loss  enfliehn, 
Fliichtig  ist  die  Zeit ' 

Trinke,  kiisse  !  Sieh,  es  ist, 
Heut  Gelegenheit  ! 
Weisst  du,  wo  du  morgen  bist  ? 
Fleuschtig  ist  die  Zeit ! 

Aufschub  einer  guten  That, 
Hat  schon  oft  gerent  ! 
Hurtig  leben,  ist  mein  Rath, 
Fliichtig  ist  die  Zeit ! 


Gather  roses  while  they  bloom, 
To  morrow's  not  to-day  ; 
Ah  !  the  hours  flee  all  too  soon, 
Time  quickly  speeds  away  ! 

Fill  up  the  glass,  imprint  a  kiss, 
The  chance  is  here  to-day  ; 
Knowst  where  thou'lt  to-morrow  be  ? 
Time  quickly  speeds  away  ! 

He  who  a  noble  deed  defers, 
Will  oft  regret  the  day  ; 
Thy  life  enjoy,  my  counsel  is, 
Time  quickly  speeds  away  ! 


-24- 


Hfyemsage— A  Rl>ine  Tradition. 


GEIBEL. 


Am  Rheim,  am  griinen  Rheine, 
Da  ist  so  mild  die  Nacht, 
Die  Rebenhiigel  liegen 
In  goldner  Mondenpracht. 

Und  an  den  Hiigeln  wandelt 
Ein  hoher  Schatten  her 
Mit  Schwert  und  Purpurmantel, 
Die  Krone  von  Golde  schwer. 

Das  ist  der  Karl,  der  Kaiser, 
Der  mit  gewalt'ger  Hand 
Von  vielen  hundert  Jahren 
Geherrscht  im  deutschen  Land. 

Er  ist  heraufgestiegen 
Zu  Aachen  aus  der  Gruft, 
Und  segnet  seine  Reben 
Und  atmet  Traubenduft. 

Bei  Kiidesheim,  da  funkelt 
Der  Mond  ins  Wasser  hinein, 
Und  baut  eine  goldene  Briicke 
Wohl  iiber  den  griinen  Rhein. 

Der  Kaiser  geht  hiniiber 
Und  schreitet  langsam  fort 
Und  segnet  liings  dem  Strome 
Die  Reben  an  jedem  Ort. 

Dann  kehrt  er  heim  nach  Aachen 
Und  schliift  in  seiner  Gruft 
Bis  ihn  im  neuen  Jahre 
Erweckt  der  Trauben  Duft. 


Wir  aber  full  en  die  Romer 
Und  trinken  im  goldenen  Saft 
Uns  deutsches  Heldenfeuer 
Uns  deutsches  Heldenkraft. 


Along  the  Rhine's  green  waters 
Resplendent  is  the  night, 
The  vine-clad  hills  are  glowing 
Inth'  moon's  soft,  silvery  light. 

And  'round  the  hill  is  wand'ring 
A  phantom  tall  and  bold, 
With  sword  and  purple  mantle, 
And  heavy  crown  of  gold. 

And  this  is  Karl,  the  emp'ror, 
He  who,  with  mighty  hand, 
For  many  hundred  years 
Did  rule  in  Fatherland. 

Up  from  his  tomb  at  Aachen 
Did  this  tall  phanton   climb. 
Inhaled  the  grapes'  sweet  perfume, 
And  blessed  his  growing  vine. 

At  Riidesheim   the  moonbeams 
On  th'  rippling  waters  glow, 
A  bridge  of  gold  they're  building 
Across  the  Rhine's  green  flow. 

The  emp'ror  passes  over, 
And  slowly  strides  apace, 
And  blesses  'long  the  river 
The  vines  at  every  place 

He  turns  again  towards  Aachen, 

Asleep  falls  in  his  tomb 

Till  he,  in  th'  new  year  coming, 

Is  waked  l>y  the  grapes'  sweet  bloom. 

But  yet  we  fill  the  beakers, 
And,  in  the  golden  wine, 
We  drink  to  all  our  heroes, 
Whose  might  and  virtues  shine. 


tefc.— Aorning 


UHLAND. 


Noch  ahnt  man  kaum  der  Sonne  Licht, 
Noch  sind  die  Morgenglocken  nicht 
Im  finstern  Thai  erklungen. 

Wie  still  des  Waldes  weiter  Raum  ! 
Die  Voglein  zwitschern  nur  im  Traum, 
Kein  Sang  hat  sich  erschwungen. 

Ich  hab'  mich  Uingst  in's  Feld  gemacht, 
Und  liabe  schon  dies  Lied  erdacht, 
Und  hab'  es  laut  ge  ungen. 


Morn's  rosy  beams  have  not  yet  come, 
The  morning  bells  have  not  yet  rung 
The  gloomy  vale  along. 

How  still  the  forest  there  doth  seem, 
The  birds  but  warble  in  a  dream, 
Upsoared  hath  yet  no  song. 

In  fields  of  green  I  lingered  long, 
Already  have  composed  this  song, 
And  sang  it  loud  and  strong. 


.— Evening  v3ong. 


RUECKERT. 


Ich  stand  auf  Berges  Halde, 
Als  Sonn'  hinunter  gieng, 
Und  sah  wie  uberm  Walde 
Des  Abends  Goldnetz  hieng. 


Des  Himmels  Wolken  thauten 
Der  Erde  Frieden  zu, 
Bei  Abendglockenlauten 
Gieng  die  Natur  zur  Ruh. 


Ich  sprach  :  O  Herz,  empfinde 
Der  Schopfung  Stille  nun, 
Und  schick  mit  jedem  Kinde 
Der  Flur  dich  auch,  zur  ruhn. 


Die  Blumen  alle  schliessen 
Die  Augen  allgemach, 
Und  alle  Wellen  fliessen 
Bessiinftiget  im  Bach. 


Nun  hat  der  miide  Silfe 
Sich  unters  Blatt  gesetzt, 
Und  die  Libell  am  Schilfe 
Entschlummert  thaubenetzt. 


Es  ward  dem  goldnen  Kafer 
Zur  Wieg'  ein  Rosenblatt ; 
Die  Heerde  mit  dem  Schiller 
Sucht  ihre  Lagerstatt. 


Die  Lerche  sucht  aus  Liiften 
Ihr  feuchtes  Nest  im  Klee 
Und  in  des  Waldes  Schliiflen 
Ihr  Lager  Hirsch  und  Reh. 


Wer  sein  ein  Hiiettchen  nennet, 
Rubt  nun  darin  sich  aus  ; 
Und  wen  die  Fremde  trennet, 
Den  triigt  ein  Traum  nach  Haus. 


Mich  fasset  ein  Verlangen, 
Dass  ich  zur  dieser  Frist 
Hinauf  niclit  kann  gelangen 
Wo  meine  Heimat  ist. 


I  stood  upon  the  mountain 
As  the  sun  began  to  set, 
And  saw  how  o'er  the  forest 
Hung  evening's  golden  net. 


The  clouds  of  heaven  bedewed 
The  earth  with  smiling  peace  ; 
With  evening's  bells  resounding 
Came  nature's  sweet  release. 


Said  I :  "O  Heart,  behold  thou 
Fair  nature's  tranquil  reign  ; 
Be  thou  at  rest  thyself,  as 
The  children  of  the  plain  !  " 


The  flowers  are  all  closing 
Their  eyes  of  gentle  mien, 
And  every  wave  is  flowing 
Serenely  in  the  stream. 


O,  see  the  sylph,  so  weary, 
Beneath  the  leaf  doth  lie, 
And  on  the  serge,  all  dew-sprent, 
Asleep 's  the  dragon  fly. 


To  rock  the  golden  beetle 

A  leaf  waits  on  the  rose  ; 

The  flocks  and  their  kind  shepherd 

Are  seeking  their  repose. 


The  lark  i'  the  air  is  looking 
Its  humid  nest  to  find, 
And  in  the  forest  seek  they 
Their  bed,  the  roe  and  hind. 


To  such  as  own  their  cottage 
Sweet  rest  doth  gently  come  ; 
While  they  who  roam  as  wand'rers 
Will  dream  of  home,  sweet  home. 


Regretful  is  my  longing 
That  I  cannot  attain 
My  home  above  in  heaven, 
Where  all  is  free  from  pain. 


GOETHE. 


Sent  den  Felsenquell, 

Freudehell 

Wie  ein  Sternenblick  ; 

Ueber  Wolken 

Nahrten  sein  Jugend 

Gute  Geister 

Zwischen  Klippen  im  Gebiisch. 

Jiinglingfrisch 

Tanzt  er  aus  der  Wolke 

Auf  die  Marmorfelsen  nieder, 

Jauchzet  wieder 

Nach  dem  Himmel. 

Durch  die  Gipfelgange 
Jagt  er  bunten  Kieseln  nach, 
Und  mit  fruhem  Fiihrertritt 
Reisst  er  seine  Bruderquellen 
Mit  sich  fort. 

Drunten  werden  in  dem  Thai 
Under  seinem  Fusstritt  Blumen, 
Und  die  Wiese 
Lebt  von  seinem  Hauch. 

Doch  ihn  halt  kein  Schattenthal, 

Keine  Blumen, 

Die  ihm  seine  Knie'  umschlingen, 

Ihm  mit  Liebesan&en  schmeicheln  : 

Nach  der  Ebne  dringt  sein  Lauf 

Schlangenwandelnd. 

Bache  schmiegen 
Sich  gesellig  an.     Nun  tritt  er 
.  In  die  Ebne  silberprangend, 
Und  die  Ebne  prangt  mit  ihm, 
Und  die  Fliisse  von  der  Ebne, 
Und  die  Bache  von  den  Bergen 
Jauchzen  ihm  und  rufen  :  Bruder  ! 
Bruder,  nimm  die  Briider  mit, 
Mit  zu  deinem  alten  Vater, 
Zu  dem  ew'gen  Ocean, 
Der  mit  ausgespannten  Armen 
Unser  wartet, 

Die  sich,  ach,  vergebens  offnen, 
Seine  Sehnenden  zu  fassen  ; 
Denn  uns  frisst  in  oder  Wiiste 
Gier'ger  Sand  ;  die  Sonne  droben 
Saugt  an  unserm  Blut ;  ein  Hiigel 
Hemmet  uns  zum  Teiche  !  Bruder, 
Nimm  die  Bruder  von  der  Ebne, 
Nimm  die  Bruder  von  den  Bergen 
Mit,  zu  deinem  Vater  mit ! 
Kommt  ihr  alle ! 


See  the  rocky  spring, 

Bright  and  clear 

As  a  twinkling  star  ! 

O'er  the  clouds  his 

Tender  youth  was  nourished 

By  good  spirits, 

'Tween  the  shrubby  cliffs  above. 

Fresh  with  youth, 

Out  of  the  clouds  he  dances 

'Pon  the  marble  rocks  below  ; 

His  exultant  song 

He  sends  back  to  heaven. 

Along  the  channels  on  the  summit 
Chases  he  the  mottled  pebbles  ; 
And  with  a  leader's  lofty  tread 
Convoys  he  all  his  brother  streamlets 
With  him  along. 

In  yonder  valley  far  below, 
Grow  flowers  in  his  footsteps, 
And  the  meadow 
Lives  upon  his  breath. 

But  him  holds  no  shady  vale, 

No  blossoms  fair, 

Which  'round  his  knees  are  clinging, 

And  with  loving  eyes  entreating  : 

Along  the  plain  the  current  winds 

Snake-like  and  slow. 

Brooklets,  too,  wind 

Socially  along.     Now  runs  he 

O'er  the  plain  like  burnished  silver, 

And  the  plain  his  brightness  sheds, 

And  the  streamlets  from  the  plain, 

And  the  brooklets  from  the  mountain, 

Exult  and  cry  to  him  :  Brother  ! 

Take  thy  brothers  with  thee, 

With  thee,  to  thy  aged  father, 

To  the  everlasting  ocean, 

Who,  with  outstretched  arms  is  waiting, 

Awaiting  us — 

Arms  with  which,  alas  !  in  vain 

His  longing  ones  he  tried  to  seize  ; 

For  on  the  waste  the  greedy  sand 

Devours  us  ;  the  sun  above  us 

Sucks  at  our  blood  ;  the  mountain 

Hems  us  into  pools  !  Brother, 

Take  thy  brothers  from  the  plain, 

Take  thy  brothers  from  the  mountain, 

Take  them  to  thy  sire,  O  take  ! 

Come,  come  ye  all ! 


-27- 


Und  nun  schwillt  er 
Herrlicher  ;  ein  ganz  Geschlechte 
Tragt  den  Fiirsten  hoch  empor  ! 
Und  im  rollenden  Triumphe 
Gibt  er  Liindern  Namen,  Stiidte 
Werden  unter  seinem  Fuss. 

Unauthaltsam  rauscht  er  weiter. 
Lasst  der  Tiirme  Flammengipfel 
Marmorhiiuser.  eine  Schopfung 
Seiner  Fiille,  hinter  sich. 

Cedernhiiuser  tragt  der  Atlas 
Auf  den  Riesenschultern  ;  sausend 
Wehen  iiber  seinem  Haupte 
Tausend  Flaggen  durch  die  Liifte, 
Zeugen  seiner  Herrlichkeit. 

Und  so  triigt  er  seine  Briider, 
Seine  Schatze,  seine  Kinder, 
Dem  erwartenden  Erzeuger 
Freudebrausend  an  das  Herz. 


And  now  swells  he 

Proudly  ;  a  whole  race  of  them 

Bear  their  princely  charge  on  high  ! 

And  in  triumph,  rolling  on, 

Giving  names  to  lands.     Towns  and  cities 

Spring  up  beneath  his  foot. 

Resistlessly  he  rushes  on, 
Leaving  flaming  minarets  and 
Marble  mansions — creatures  ot 
His  fullness — all  behind  him. 

Cedar-houses  bears  this  Atlas 
On  his  giant  shoulders,     Rustling, 
Above  his  head  a  thousand  flags 
Do  proudly  wave — all  attesting 
His  majestic  presence. 

And  so  bears  he  all  his  brothers, 
All  his  treasures  and  his  children, 
With  enraptured  emotion 
To  his  waiting  father's  heart. 


.— Tl)e  Duet. 


REINICK 


Im  Fliederbusch  ein  Voegtein  sass 
In  der  stillen  schonen  Maiennacht, 
Darunter  ein  Magdlein  im  hohen  Gras, 
In  der  stillen  schonen  Maiennacht. 
Sang  Magdlein,  hielt  das  Voglein  Ruh, 
Sang  Voglein,  hort  das  Magdlein  zu. 

Und  weithin  klang 

Der  Zwiegesang 

Das  mondbegliintze  Thai  entlang. 
Was  sang  das  Voglein  im  Gezweig 
Durch  die  stille  schone  Maiennacht  ? 
Was  sang  doch  wohl  das  Magdlein  gleich 
Durch  die  stille  schone  Maiennacht  ? 
Von  Friihlingssonne  das  Voglein, 
Von  Liebeswonne  das  Magdlein. 

Wie  der  Gesang 

Zum  Herzen  klang 
Vergess'  ich  nimmer  mein  Lebenlang  ! 


In  an  elder-bush  sat  a  bird  quite  small, 
On  a  lovely,  tranquil  night  in  May, 
And,  beneath,  a  maid  in  grass  so  tall, 
On  a  lovely,  tranquil  night  in  May. 
The  bird  had  rest  when  the  maiden  sang, 
The  maid  gave  ear  when  the  bird  s  voice 

And  far  along  [rang 

The  duo  song 

Through  the  moonlit  vale  resounded  long. 
And  what  sang  that  bird  on  yonder  limb 
Through  that  lovely  tranquil  night  in  May? 
And  the  maiden's  song — what  did  she  sing 
Through  that  lovely  tranquil  night  in  May? 
The  wee  bird  sang  of  Spring  so  bright, 
The  maiden  sang  of  love's  delight. 

How  that  sweet  song 

My  heart  did  throng 
I  will  ne'er  forget  my  lifetime  long. 


3m  Hosenbusctj    bte  Ciebe  Sdjlief.— Love  Asleep   in  a 


HOFFMAN   VON 

Im  Rosenbusch  die  Liebe  schlief, 
Der  Friihling  k  im,  der  Friihling  rief ; 
Die  Liebe  horts  die  Lieb  erwacht, 
Schaut  aus  der  Knosp'  hervor  und  lacht, 
Und  denkt,  zu  zeitig  mocht's  bait  sein, 
Und  schlaft  drum  ruhig  wieder  ein. 
Der  Friihling  aber  lasst  nich  nach, 
Er  kiisst  sie  jeden  Morgen  wach, 
Er  kps't  mit  ihr  von  friih  bis  spilt, 
Bis  sie  ihr  Herz  geoffnet  hat, 
Und  seine  heisse  Sehnsucht  stillt, 
Und  jeden  Sonnenblick  vergilt. 


FALLERSLEBEN. 

Love  sleeping  lies  in  a  rose-bush  tall,  [call, 
Fair  Spring  hath  come,  and  Spring  doth 
Love  hears  the  song,  and  Love  awakes, 
Peeps  out  the  bud,  with  laughter  shakes, 
And  thinks  it  is  too  soon  to  rise, 
And  shuts  again  his  peaceful  eyes. 
Fair  Spring,  howe'er,  would  not  give  way, 
She  waked  him  with  a  kiss  each  day. 
Caressed  him,  too,  from  morn  till  night, 
Until  his  heart  was  opened  quite, 
Until  her  longings  were  allayed, 
And  every  sunbeam  was  repaid. 


-28- 


Das  parabies. — Paradise, 


RTIECKERT. 


Das  Paradies  muss  schoner  sein 

Als  jeder  Ort  auf  Erden,  [darein, 

Drum   wiinscht   mein    Herz,    recht   bald 

Recht  bald  zu  werden. 

Im  Paradies  muss  ein  Fluss 

Der  ew'gen  Liebe  rinnen 

Und  jede  Sehnsuchtthrane  muss 

Sein  eine  Perle  drinnen. 

Im  Paradiese  muss  ein  Hauch 

Der  Schmerzenstillung  wehen, 

Dass  jeder  Schmerz,  und  meiner  auch, 

Muss  aufgelost  vergehen. 

Da  steht  des  Friedens  kiihler  Baum 

Gepflanzt  auf  griinen  Rliumen, 

Und  drunter  muss  ein  stiller  Traum 

Von  Ruh'  und  Gliick  sich  triiumen. 

Ein  Cherub  an  der  Pforte  steht, 

Die  Welt  hinweg  zu  schrecken. 

Dass  auch  zu  mir  ihr  Hauch  nicht  geht, 

Mich  aus  dem  Traum  zu  wecken. 

Da  wird  das  monsche  Schifi.  mein  Herz, 

Geankert  ruh'n  im  Hafen, 

Das  rege  Wiegenkindlein  Schmerz 

Im  Busen  enalich  schlafen 

Fur jeden  Dorn,  der  hier  mich  stach, 

Wird  sich  die  Rose  finden, 

Und  Lust,  die  nie  mir  Rosen  brach, 

Wird  sie  urn's  Haupt  mir  winden. 

Dort  werden  alle  Freuden  Muh'n, 

Die  in  der  Knosp'  'nier  starben, 

Und  werden  wird  ein  Friihlings  griin 

Aus  alien  Todesgarben 

Dort  wird,  was  je  mein  Herz  gesucht', 

Mir  still  entgegentreten. 

Vom  griinen  Zweig  als  goldne  Frncht, 

Als  helle  Blum  aus  Beeten 

Die  Wunsch'  und  Hoflnungen  der  Brust, 

Wie  Blumen  aller  Zonen, 

Sie  werden  dort  in  stiller  Luft 

Um  mich  zusammen  wohnen. 

Die  Jugend,  die  mit  Fliigelschlag 

An  mir  voriiberrauschte. 

Die  Liebe,  die  auf  einen  Tag 

Mit  Nektar  mich  berauschte. 

Sie  werden  fluent  und  fliigellos, 

Auf  ewig  mich  umscherzen, 

Mich  halten  wie  das  Kind  im  Schoss 

Und  ihren  Liebling  herzen. 

Und  jene  Gottheit,  deren  Licht 

Auf  mich  von  fernher  taute, 

Und  deren  klares  Angesicht 

Ich  nur  in  Thriinen  schaute. 

Die  Poesie,  als  Geist  der  Welt 

Wird  hell  sich  mir  entschleiern, 

Wann  hell  sich  Freimunds  Lieb  gesellt 

Dem  Chor  der  Sternenleiern. 


O  Paradise  must  fairer  be 

Than  all  earth's  beauteous  places, 

My  heart  is  stirred  to  be  transferred 

To  share  its  heavenly  graces. 

In  Paradise  there  runs  a  stream 

Of  love  that's  ever  flowing  ; 

And  every  tear  that  doth  appear 

With  pearly  light  is  glowing. 

And  breezes  blow  in  Paradise 

To  cool  the  heart's  fierce  fever  ; 

That  each  one's  pain,  nor  mine  remain, 

Must  pass  away  forever. 

There  stands  so  fair  the  tree  of  Peace, 

On  greenest  spot  'tis  planted  ; 

Beneath  its  shade,  in  slumber  laid, 

Lies  one  by  visions  haunted. 

A  cherub  at  the  gateway  stands, 

And  watchful  guard  is  keeping, 

Lest  wordly  din  should  enter  in. 

And  rouse  me  from  my  sleeping. 

And  here  my  heart,  that  shattered  bark, 

Safe  anchor  will  be  keeping, 

And  restless  Care,  a  nursling  fair, 

Will  soon  itself  be  sleeping. 

For  every  thorn  that  me  hath  pricked, 

A  rose  I  will  be  finding, 

And  Joy,  that  naught  the  roses  brought. 

Will  them  round  me  be  winding. 

From  dead  buds  there  will  brightly  bloom 

All  pleasures  here  once  cherished  ; 

And  vernal  bloom  transformed  be  soon 

From  sheaves  that  long  have  perished. 

And  there  just  what  my  heart  hath  sought, 

So  silently  discloses, 

As  golden  fruit  from  tender  shoot, 

As  from  their  bed  the  roses. 

The  hopes  and  wishes  in  my  breast, 

Like  flowers  from  every  quarter 

Will  bloom  so  fair  in  tranquil  air, 

And  dwell  with  me  thereafter. 

Bright  Youth   that,  in  thy  winged  flight, 

My  years  had  swiftly  captured  ; 

And  Love,  that,  in  a  single  day, 

With  nectar  me  enraptured, 

Will  both  be  wingless,  flightless,  too, 

And  ever  play  around  me  ; 

And  as  you  see,  on  mother's  knee, 

A  child,  so  they  will  hold  me. 

That  deity,  whose  distant  light 

On  me  was  faintly  gleaming, 

Whose  lovely  face  I  could  but  trace 

In  tears,  as  I  was  dreaming  ; 

Fair  i  'oesy,  the  world's  great  soul, 

Will  so  n  unveil  its  fires, 

When  clear  and  strong  my  joyous  song 

Will  join  celestial  lyres. 


(Efegte. 


MATTH  [  SSON. 


[/«  den  Ruinen  Ernes  Alien  Bergschlosses 

Gcschrieben.  ] 
Schweigend,    in    der     Abenddiimmrung 

Schleier, 

Ruht  die  Flur,  das  Lied  der  Haine  stirht ; 
Nur  dass  hier  im  alternden  Gemiiuer 
Melancholisch  noch  ein  Heimchen  zirpt. 
Stille  sinkt  aus  unbewolkten  Liiften, 
Langsam    zieh'n    die    Herden   von   den 

Triften, 

Und  der  miide  Landmann  eilt  der  Ruh 
Seiner  viiterlichen  Hiitte  zu. 

Hier,  auf  diesen  vvaldumkriinzten  Hohen, 
Unter  Triimmern  der  Vergangenheit, 
Wo  der  Vorwelt  Schauer  mich  umwehen, 
Sei  dies  Lied,  O  Wehmut,  dir  geweiht ! 
Traurend    denk'  ich,    was,    vor    grauen 

Jahren, 

Diese  morschen  Ueberreste  waren  : 
Ein  betiirmtes  Schloss,  voll  Majestiit, 
Auf  des  Berges  Felsenstirn'  erhoht. 


Dort,  wo  um  des  Pfeilers  dunkle  Triim- 

mer 

Traurig  fliisternd  sich  der  Epheu  schlingt, 
Und  der  Abendrote  triiber  Schimmer 
Durch  den  oden  Raum  der  Fensterblinkt, 
Segneten  vielleicht  des  Vaters  Thranen 
Einst    den    edelsten    von    Deutschlands 

Sohnen, 

Dessen  Herz,  der  Ehrbegierde  voll, 
Heiss  demnahen  Kampf  entgegenschwoll. 


Zetich    in    Frieden,    sprach    der    greise 

Krieger, 

Ihn  umgiirtend  mit  dem  Heldenschwert, 
Kehre  nimmer,  oder  kehr'  als  Sieger, 
Sei  des  Namens  deiner  Viiter  wert ! 
Und  des  edlen  Jiinglings  Auge  spriihte 
Todesflammen  ;  seine  \Vange  gliihte, 
Gleich  dem  aufgebliithen  Rosenhain, 
In  der  Morgenrote  Purpurschein 


Eine  Donnerwolke,  flog  der  Ritter 
Dann.     wie     Richard     Lowenherz,    zur 

Schlacht ; 

Gleich  dem  Tannenwald  im  Ungewitter 
Beugte  sich  vor  ihm  des  Feindes  Macht ! 
Mild,    wie    Biiche,    die     durch    Blumen 

wallen, 

Kehrt  er  zu  des  Felsenschlosses  Hallen, 
Zu  des  Vaters  Freudenthriinenblick, 


[  Written  in  the  Ruins  of  an  old  Castle.'} 

Silent,  in  the  dusky  light  of  evening, 
Rests  the  plain  ;  the   woodland  song  is 

gone,  [olden. 

Save  that,    'mid  these  ruins,    gray  and 
Chirps  a  cricket  its  melancholy  tone. 
Silence  sinks  from  out  a  sky  serene, 
Slowly   wind  the    herds    from    pastures 

green,  [free, 

The  weary  plowman,  from  his  toil   now 
Quick  to  his  father's  humble  cot  will  flee. 

Here  upon  this  wood-encircled  height, 
Amid  the  ruins  of  departed  years, 
Where  pictures  dread  of  by-gone  times 
surround  me,  [tears  ! 

Sing  I   to  thee.  ohSad-ess,  through  my 
What,  oft  sadly  think  I,   in  those  days 
grown  hoary,  [glory  : 

Were    these   wrecks  of  lofty  pride  and 
A  towering  castle  of  majestic  mien, 
Once   on  this  mountain's  brow  of  stone 
was  seen. 

[the  ivy 

There,    whispering  sadly,    where   clings 
To  the  ruined  pillar,  stately  now  no  more, 
And  the  dusky  shimmer  of  the  evening 
glimmer  [floor, 

Blinks  at  casement  there  across  the  empty 
A  father  sadly    weeping,   and,  perhaps, 
caressing,  [blessing 

Him,  the  noblest  son  of  Germany,  was 
Whose  swelling  heart,    aglow   wi'    am- 
bition's heat, 
The  coming  struggle  desired  to  meet. 

[rior, 

Depart  in  peace  !  said  the  grizzled  war- 
As  he  begirt  him  with  the  sword  of  fame; 
Return  no  more,  or  return  as  victor, 
Be  thou  worthy  of  thy  father's  name  ! 
And  the  noble  youth's  bright  eyes  were 
throwing  [glowing 

Flashes  of  deadly  fire  ;  his  cheeks  were 
With  hue  like  that  which  steals  o'er  full- 
bloom  roses  [closes. 
When  morn  the  purple  rays  of  light  dis- 

[der, 

Then  flew  the  knight  like  doud  of  thun- 
der 

As  Richard  Lion-Heart  once  did,  to  fight; 
Like  fir  trees  'neath  the  wrathful  tempest 

bending. 

Bowed  before  him  the  hostile  might. 
Gently,  as  brooklets  through  flowers  are 
wending,  [tending, 

To    his  cliff  built   halls    his   steps   were 
To  his  father's  joyful,  tear-stainedface, 


-30- 


In  des  keuschen  Madchens  Arm  zuriick. 


Ach  !  mit  banger  Sehnsucht  blickt  die 

Holde 

Oft  yom  Seller  nach  des  Thales  Pfad  ; 
Schild  und  Panzer  gliihn  im  Abendgolde, 
Rosse  fliegen,  der  Geliebte  naht ! 
Ihm  die  treue  Rechte  sprachlos  reichend 
Steht  sie  da,  errotend  und  erbleichend  : 
Aber  was  ihr  sanftes  Auge  spricht, 
Sangen  selbst  Petrarch  und  Sappho  nicht. 


Frohlich  halite  der  Pokale  Lauten 
Dort,  wo  wildverschlunge  Ranken  sich 
Ueber  Uhunester  schwarz  verbreiten, 
Bis  der  Sterne  Silberglanz  erblich  ; 
Die  Geschichten  schwererkiimpfter  Siege, 
Grauser  Abenteu'r  im  heilgen  Kriege, 
Weckten  in  der  rauhen  Helden  Brust 
Die  Erinnrung  schauerlicher  Lust. 


O  der   Wandlung !  Grau'n    und    Nacht 

umdiistern 

Nun  den  Schauplatz  jener  Herrlichkeit ! 
Schwermutvolle  Abendwinde  fliistern, 
Wo  die  Starken  sich  des  Mahls  gefreut ! 
Disteln  wanken  einsam  auf  der  Statte, 
Wo  um  Schild    und   Speer    der   Knabe 

flehte, 

Wann  der  Kriegsdrommete  Ruf  erklang, 
Und    aufs    Kampfross    sich    der     Vater 

schwang. 


Asche  sind  der  Machtigen  Gebeine 
Tief  im  dunkeln  Erdenschose  nun  ! 
Kaum  dass  halbversunkne  Leichensteine 
Noch  die  Statte  zeigen,  wo  sie  ruh'n. 
Viele  wiirden  langst  ein  Spiel  der  Liifte, 
Ihr  Gediichtnis  sank,  wie  ihre  Griifte  ; 
Vor  dem  Thatenglanz  der  Heldenzeit 
Schwebt  die  Wolke  der  Vergessenheit. 


So  vergehn  des  Lebens  Herrlichkeiten, 
So  entfleucht  das  Trumbild  eitler  Macht ! 
So  versinkt,  im  schnallen  Lauf  der  Zeiten, 
Was  die  Erde  tragt,  in  ode  Nacht ! 
Lorbeern,    die    des    Siegers    Stirn    um- 

kranzen, 

Thaten,  die  in  Erz  und  Marmor  gliinzen 
Urnen,  der  Erinnerung  geweiht, 
Und  Gesange  der  Unsterblichkeit ! 


Alles,  was  mit  Sehnsucht  und  Entziicken 
Hier  am  Staub  ein  edles  Herz  erfiillt, 


And  to  the  waiting  maiden's  chaste  em- 
brace. 

Oft,  with  anxious  longing,  from  her  turret 
Far  down  into  the  vale  her  eyes  are  peer- 
ing ;  [glowing, 
Shield  and  mail   in  evening's   gold  are 
Steeds  are  flying ;  the  lov'd  one's  near- 
ing,  [tended, 
Speechless,    she    her    faithful   hand   ex- 
With  blush  and  pallor  interblended, 
But  what  her  soft  blue  eye  expresses — 
well,                                      [could  tell. 
Nor  Sappho's  song,  nor  Petrarch's  muse, 

Joyously  rang  the  goblets  of  crystal, 
There  where  the  tangled  and  rank-grow- 
ing vine,  [spreading, 
Black  o'er  the  nests   of  the    owlets    is 
Till  the  glistening  stars  do  but  faintly 

shine. 

The  tales  of  victories,  heard  from  afar, 
Of  wildest  adventures  in  the  Holy  War, 
Aroused   in  the  breasts   of  the    rugged 

knights 
The  remembrance  of  their  fierce  delights. 

How  changed  the  scene  !  Dismay   and 
Night  o'ercast  [been  ; 

The  place  where  all  that  glory  once  had 
Winds  of  evening,  sadly  swelling,  whisper 
Where  strong  hearts  revelled  'mid  rap- 
turous din,  [field 
Lonely  thistles  now  are  nodding  o'er  the 
Where  the  boy  was  pleading  for  spear 

and  shield, 

When  the  call  to  arms  from  trumpet  rang, 
And  on  his  charger  the  father  sprang. 

Turned  to  ashes  the  bones  of  the  mighty! 
Down  in  the  dark  lap  of  earth  they  lie 

deep.  [their  trenches 

Scarcely  the  half-sunken  stones  o'er 
Point  out  the  spot  where  the  heroes  now 

sleep,  [of  these  braves, 

The  winds  have  long  toyed  with  the  dust 
Their  memories  sank,  too,  just  like  their 

graves,  [won, 

O'er  the  war-like  deeds  by  those  heroes 
Pass  the  cloud-folds  of  Oblivion  ! 

[glory ! 

Thus  depart  this  life's  vain  pomp  and 
'Thus  flit  by  the  dreams  of  passing  might ! 
Thus,  too,  sinks  in  Time's  swift-flowing 

current 

All  that  earth  upbears,  to  empty  night  ! 
Laurels,  that  the  victor's  brow  entwine, 
Deeds  that  in  brass  and  marble  shine, 
Urns,  dedicate  to  Memory, 
And  the  songs  of  Immortality. 

[rapture, 

All,  all,  that  here,  with  longing  and  with 
On  the  earth  a  noble  heart  doth  warm. 


-31- 


Schwindet,  gleich  des  Herbstes  Sonnen- 

blicken, 

Wenn  ein  Sturm  den  Horizont  umhiillt. 
Die  am  Abend  freudig  sich  umfassen, 
Sieht  der  Morgenrote  schon  erblassen  : 
Selbst  der  Freundschaft  und  der  Liebe 

Gliick 
Liisst  auf  Erden  keine  Spur  zuriick. 

Liebe  !  deines  Tempels  Rosenauen 
Grenzen  an  bedornte  Wastenei'n, 
Und  ein  plotzliches  Gewittergrauen 
Diistertoft  der  Freundschaft  Aetherschein. 
Hoheit,   Ehre,    Macht    und    Ruhm  sind 

eitel  ! 

Eines  Weltgebieters  stolzen  Scheitel, 
Und  ein  zitternd  Haupt  am  Pilgerstab, 
Deckt  mit  einer  Dunkelheit  das  Grab. 


Vanishes  like  the  autumnal  sunshine 
When  the   horizon's   verge  is  veiled  in 

storm. 

Those  at  evening  who  fondly  do  embrace, 
Are  in  the  morning  found  with  pallid  face  ; 
Even  Friendship's  ties,  and  Love's  de- 
light, 
Leave  on  the  earth  no  trace  in  sight. 

O  Love  !  thy  gardens  of  fragrant  roses 
By  thorny  wastes  are  hemmed  in  every- 
where !  [tempest 
When  quickly  spread  the  wings  of  the 
Darken  often  Friendship's  sky,  so  fair  ! 
Vain  are  greatness,    honor,    might   and 
glory !  [hoary, 
On  the  monarch's  head,   so    proud  and 
And  on  the  weary  pilgrim's  trembling 
head,                                   [o'erspread. 
One  common  darkness  doth  the  grave 


:abelaibe.— Adelaide. 


MATTHISSON. 


Einsam  wandelt  dein  Freund  im  Friieh- 

lingsgarten, 
Mild    vom    lieblichen    Zauberlicht    um- 

flossen, 
Das     durch     wankende     Bliithenzweige 

zittert, 
Adelaide ! 

In  der  spiegelnden  Fluth,  im  Schnee  der 

Alpen, 

In  des  sinkenden  Tages  Goldgewolken, 
Im  Gefilde  der  Sterne  strahlt  dein  Bild- 

niss, 
Adelaide ! 


Abendliiftchen       im      z  art  en      Laube 
flustern,  [sauseln, 

Silberglockchen  des  Mai's  im  Grase 
Wellen  rauschen  und  Nachtigallen  floten  : 
Adelaide ! 


Einst,  O  Wunder !  entbliiht  auf  meinem 

Grabe, 

Eine  Blume  der  Asche  meines  Herzens ; 
Deutlich  schimmert  auf  jedem  Purpur- 

bliittchen, 
Adelaide ! 


Through  Spring's  fair  garden  thy  friend 
wanders  lonely, 

Surrounded  with  light  both  magic  and 
mellow, 

That  quivering  comes  through  blossom- 
ing branches, 

Adelaide  ! 

In    the    mirrored   flood,    in  the  Alpine 

snow-storm, 
In  the  closing  day's  fast-fading  clouds  all 

golden, 
In  the  star  lit  noon  of  night  beams  thy 

image, 
Adelaide  1 

Evening  zephyrs  in  tender  foliage  whisper, 

In  silv'ry  tones  sweet  Moral  bells  are  tink- 
ling, 

Billows  murmur  and  nightingales  e'er 
warble : 

Adelaide  ! 

Once,  O  wonder !  upon  my  grave  will 

blossom 
A  tender   flower  from  my  heart's  pale 

ashes  ; 
On  each  purple  leaf  there  will   brightly 

glimmer 
Adelaide ! 


-32- 


Der  (5raf  r>on  (Breters.— Tt)e  Coant  of  (ireier^. 


JOHANN  LUDWIG   UHLAND. 


Der  junge  Graf  von  Greiers,  er  steht  vor 

seinem  Haus, 
Er  sieht  am   schonen   Morgen   weit  ins 

Gebirg  hinaus, 
Er  sieht   die  Felsenhorner    verkliirt    im 

goldnen  Strahl 
Und  dammernd  mitten  inne  das  griinste 

Alpenthal  : 

"O  Alpe,  griine  Alpe,  wie  zieht'snach  dir 

mich  nin  ! 
Begliickt,    die    dich   befahren,    Berghirt 

und  Sennerin  ! 
Oft  sari  ich  sonst  hiniiber,  empfand  nich 

Leid  noch  Lust; 
Doch  heute  dringt  ein  Sehnen  mir  in  die 

tiefste  Brust." 

Und  nah  und  naher  klingen  Schalmeien 

an  sein  Ohr, 
Die  Hirtinnen  und  Hirten  sie  ziehn  zur 

Burg  empor, 
Und  auf  des  Schlosses  Rasen  hebt  an  der 

Ringeltanz, 
Die    weissen    Aermel    schimmern,   bunt 

flattern  Band  und  Kranz. 

Der  Sennerinnen  jiingste,  schlank  wie  ein 

Maienreis. 
Erfasst  die  Hand  des  Grafen,  da  muss  er 

in  den  Kreis. 
Es  schlinget  ihn  der  Reigerj   in  seinen 

Wirbel  ein  : 
"Hei.  junger  Graf  von  Greiers,  gefangen 

musst  du  sein." 


Sie  raffen  ihn   von   hinnen   mit   Sprung 

und  Reigenlied, 
Sie  tanzen  durch  die   Dorfer,    wo   Glied 

sich  reiht  an  Glied 
Sie  tanzen  liber  Matten  sie  tanzen  durch 

den  Wald. 
Bis  fernhin  auf  die  Alpen  derhelle  Klang 

verhallt. 

Schon    steigt    der    zweite   Morgen,    der 

dritte  schon  wird  klar. 
Wo  bleibt  der  Graf  von  Greiers  ?    1st  er 

verschollen  gar? 
Und    wieder     sinkt     zum     Abend     der 

schwiilen  Sonne  Lauf ; 
Da   donnert's  im   Gebirge,  da  ziehn  die 

Wetter  auf. 


The  youthful  Count  of  Greiers  before  his 
castle  stands, 

At  morn  his  vision  sweeps  o'er  the 
mountain's  sun-kissed  lands, 

He  sees  the  horn-ed  crags  in  the  sun- 
light's golden  sheen, 

And,  dimly,  too,  the  greatest  vale  in  the 
shade  between. 


"Oh,  Alp,  thou  green-clad  Alp  !  how 
much  I'm  drawn  to  thee  ! 

How  happy,  when  they  reach  thee.  must 
maids  and  herdsmen  be  ! 

Oftimes  I've  gazed  upon  thee,  nor  cared 
for  all  thou  art. 

But  now  a  longing  seizes  me  in  my  in- 
most heart. 


And  near  and  nearer  still  sound  the  tim- 

bls  on  his  ear  ; 
The  herdsmen  and  the  maidens  to  the 

castle  now  draw  near  ; 
And  on  the  turf  of  green   around  begins 

the  whirling  dance, 
The  white  sleeves  flit  and  glimmer,  the 

wreaths  and  ribbons  glance. 

The  youngest  of  the  maidens,  slim  as  a 
sprig  of  spring, 

The  Count's  hand  seizes  quickly,  he 
must  go  in  the  ring  ; 

Soon  swallowed  in  the  whirl  of  the  cir- 
cling dance  is  he  : 

"Ho,  youthful  Count  of  Greiers,  now 
captured  must  you  be  ! ', 

They  forced  him  from  that  place,  and,  with 

dance  and  roundelay, 
They  dancing  go  through  hamlets  where 

others  lead  the  way. 
They  dance  across  the    meadow,    they 

dance  through  wood  and  dell. 
Till  in  the  heart   of  th'    distant  Alps  the 

lingering  echoes  dwell 

The  second  morn  has  come,  and  the  third 

will  soon  be  here  ; 
Where  stays  the  Count  of  Greiers  ?  did 

he,  then,  disappear? 
Again  the  evening  closes  in  thick   and 

sultry  air ; 
It  thunders  in  the  mountains,  the  storm 

is  gathering  there 


-33- 


Geborsten  ist  die  Wolke,  der  Bach  zum 

Strom  geschwellt, 
Und  als  mit  jiihem  Strahle  der  Blitz  die 

Nacht  erhellt, 
Da  zeigt  sich  in  den  Strudeln  ein  Mann, 

der  wogt  und  ringt, 
Bis  er  den  Ast  ergriffen  und  sich  ans  Ufer 

schwingt: 

"Da  bin  ich,  weggerissen  aus  eurer  Berge 

Schoos ; 
Im   Tanzen    und    im   Schwingen   ergriff 

mich  Sturmgetos  ; 
Ihr  alle  sind  geborgen  in  Hiitt'  und  Fel- 

senspalt, 
Nur    mich     hat     fortgeschwemmet    des 

Wolkenbruchs  Gevvalt. 


The  cloud  has  burst  its  fetters,  the  brook 

becomes  a  stream, 
Illumined  is  the  night  with  the  lightning's 

fitful  gleam. 
A  man  is    seen    to    struggle    'mid    the 

whirlpool's  sullen  roar. 
Till    a    branch    he    quickly    seizes   and 

swings  upon  the  shore. 

"  Here  am  I,  torn  away  from  your  moun- 
tain's sweet  retreat, 

While  dancing  I  was  whirled  by  the 
storm's  tempestuous  beat ; 

In  mountain  huts  and  caverns  ye  all  did 
shelter  find ; 

While  I  alone  was  swept  along  by  the 
torrent  and  the  wind. 


Leb'    wohl,    du  griine   Alpe,  rnit  deiner  I  Farewell,  thou  green-clad  Alp,  with  thy 
rhaar  !  *-iovous  comnanv  ! 


frohen  Schaar  ! 


*joyous  company  ! 


Lebt  wohl    drei  sel'ge  Tage,  da  ich  ein    Farewell  the  blessed  days  when  I  watched 


Hirte  war  ! 
O,  nicht  bin  ich  geboren  zu  solchem  Par- 

adies, 
Aus  dem  mit  Blitzesflamme  des  Himmels 

Zorn  mich  wies. 


Du    frische    Alpenrose, 
meine  Hand  ! 


riihr'    nimmer 


Ich  fuhls,  die  kalte  Woge,  sieloscht  nicht 

diesen  Brand. 
Du  zauberischer  Reigen,  lock'  nimmer 

mich  hinaus  ! 
Nimm  mich  in  deine  Mauern,  du  odes 

Grafenhaus  !" 


the  flocks  on  thee  ! 
I  was  not  born  t'  enjoy  that  beatific  place 
From  whence  the  lightnings  drove  me 

'neath  heaven's  angry  face. 

Thou  Alpine  rose,  so  lovely,  touch  thou 

my  hand  no  more  ! 
Unquenched  's  the  fire  within  me  though 

torrents  o'er  me  pour. 
Ye  whirling  dance  bewitching,  ne'er  lure 

me  'gain  to  thee  ! 
My  cheerless  walls,  receive  me,  within 

thee  must  I  flee  !  " 


Prencl)  Prt^e  poem. 


Sung  at  the  Opening  of  the  Paris  Exposition  in  1889.— First  English 
Translation  by  Mr.  Zimmerman. 


QUATRE  VINGT-NEUF. 

Chant  seculaire. 
CHCEUR   DES    PEUPLES. 

Dans  la  foret  du  vieux  monde, 

Marchant,  peinant  sans  repos, 
Priant  sans  qu  on  nous  reponde, 

Nous  aliens,  mornes  troupeaux. 
Du  meme  pas  implacable 

L'heure  vient,  1'heure  s'enfuit, 
Le  meme  poids  nous  accable 

C'est  toujours  la  sombre  nuit. 
Interroge  encor  1'espace, 

Guetteur,  du  haut  de  la  tour. 
Que  te  dit  le  vent  qui  passe  ? 

Quand  done  paraitra  le  jour? 


'.EIGHTY-NINE. 

Song  of  the  Centuries. 

CHORUS   OF   THE    PEOPLE. 

In  the  old  world's  forests,  dim  with  gloom, 

Forever  toiling  without  rest, 
Like  driven  beasts,  we  pass  our  lives, 

Forever  praying,  though  never  blest. 
The  hours  come,  the  hours  go, 

In  the  same  unending  flight ; 
The  selfsame  burdens  bend  us  low ; 

With  us  'tis  always  blackest  night. 
O,  watcher  on  the  tower's  top, 

What  see'st  thou  from  thy  lofty  height? 
Say,  does  the  passing  wind  say  aught  ? 

O,  when  will  come  the  morning  light  ? 


-34- 


LE  GUETTEUE. 

Les  ailes  de  la  nuit  couvrent  le  monde 

immense, 

Seuls,  de  leur  vol  epais  evillant  le  silence, 
Les  noirs  esprits  planent  sur  moi  ! 

LA   HAINE. 

Peuples,  tremblez  !  J'ai,  pour  apotres, 

La  mort  et  Feffroi. 

Sans  meme  savoir  pourquoi, 
Ruez-vous  les  uns  sur  les  autres. 

L' IGNORANCE. 

Peuples,  reconnaissez  ma  loi  ; 
J'ai  souffle  sur  vos  yeux  et  scelle  votre 
bouche 

LA   TYRANNIE. 

Mords  ton  frein,  esclave  farouche. 
Sous  mes  pieds  orgueilleux  je  te  sens 
desarme. 

LE  DESESPOIR. 

Au  tombeau,  -pour  toujours,  Lazare  est 
enferme. 

CHCEUR   DBS   PEUPLES. 

J'interroge  1'etendue  : 

Partout  la  nuit  sans  amour  ! 

O  sentinelle  perdue, 
Vois-tu  poindre  enfin  le  jour? 

LE  GUETTEUR. 

Freres,  debout ;  levez  la  tete, 
Voyez,  voyez,  le  Ciel  blanchit ; 
Le  coq  a  chante,  1'air  fraichit. 
Entendez-vous'  ces  cris  de  fete  ? 
C'est  le  jour,  c'est  le  jour.     Nous  som- 

mes  deli  res. 
Chaines,      tombez ;      croulez,      prisons. 

L'aube  est  venue. 
Mes  yeux  mouilles  de  pleurs  Pont 

reconnue. 

Hauts  les  cceurs  ;  haut  le  front,  peuples 
regeneres. 


THE   WATCHER. 

The  sombre  wings  of  night  the  earth  still 

in  gloom  do  hide. 
Dark  spirits  above  me  hover  and  threat- 

'ningly  'round  me  glide  ; 
And  break  the  silence  with  their  cry. 

HATE. 

Tremble,  people  !  Rage,  Terror,  Death, 
Apostles  mine,  in  wait  do  lie  ; 
Without  even  knowing  why 
Ye  slay  each  other  at  ev'ry  breath. 

IGNORANCE. 

Acknowledge  my  power  and  hear 

my  cry ; 

Your  lips  are  close  sealed,   upon  your 
eyes  did  I  breathe. 

TYEANNY. 

Disarmed  art  thou  my  heel  beneath, 
Then  gnaw  thy  bit,  thou  poor,  thou  sav- 
age slave  ! 

DESPAIR. 

Forever    is    Lazarus    entombed    in    the 
grave. 

CHORUS  OF  THE  PEOPLE. 

The  distance  now  we  scan, 

Of  light  appears  not  e'en  a  ray. 

O  useless  sentinel  ! 

See'st  thou  not  the  dawn  of  day  ? 

THE   WATCHER. 

Lift  up  your  heads,  O  brothers  dear  ! 
The  heavens    presage    the    coming 

glow  ; 

The  air  is  cool,  the  cock  doth  crow  ; 
Dost  not  those  cries  of  joy  now  hear  ? 
'Tis  the  dawn  !  fetters  break  !  Delivered 
are  we  !  [breaks  at  last ! 

See,   the  prisons  are  toppling  !    Day 
Thro'  tear-bedewed  eyes  I  see  't  com- 
ing fast !  [ye  people  free  ! 
Lift  up  your  hearts  !  Raise  your  heads  ! 
The  dawn  of  Liberty  is  here  at  last ! 


Die 


.—  Tl)e  O)&pel. 


UHLAND 


Droben  stehet  die  Kapelle, 
Schauet  still  in's  Thai  hinab, 
Drunten  singt  bei  Wies'  und  Quelle 
Froh  und  hell  der  Hirtenknab  ' 

Tranrig  tont  das  Glocklein  nieder, 
Schauerlich  der  Leichenchor ; 
Stille  sind  die  frohen  Lieder 
Und  der  Knabe  lauscht  empor. 

Droben  bringt  man  sie  zu  Grabe, 
Die  sich  freuten  in  dem  Thai. 
Hirtenknabe  !     Hirtenknabe  ! 
Dir  auch  singt  man  dort  einmal. 


;  On  yonder  height  the  chapel  stands, 
i  O'erlooks  the  vale  in  tranquil  joy  ; 
While  there,  by  rills  and  meadow  lands, 
Sings  glad  and  clear  the  shepherd  boy. 

So  sadly  tolls  the  little  bell, 

And,  shudd'ring,  sings  the  chapel  choir  ; 

How  silent  is  the  shepherd's  song 

As,  list'ning,  now,  the  tones  come  nigher. 

They  lay  to  rest  on  yonder  hill 
Those  who  below  once  lived  in  joy  ; 
Some  day  o'er  thee,  when  you're  at  rest, 
They'll  sing  sad  strains,  O  shepherd  boy  ! 


-35- 


Der  postilion.— Tl)e  Postillion. 


LENAU. 


Lieblich  war  die  Maiennacht, 
Silberwolklein  flogen. 
Ob  der  holden  Friihlingspracht 
Freudig  hingezogen. 

Schlummernd  lagen  Wies'  und  Hain, 
Jeder  Pfad  verlassen; 
Niemand  als  der  Mondenschein 
Wachte  auf  der  Strassen. 


Leise  nur  das  Luftchen  sprach, 
Und  es  zog  gelinder 
Durch  das  stille  Schlafgemach 
All  der  Friihlingskinder.  . 

Heimlich  nur  das  Biichlein  schlich, 
Denn  der  Bltiten  Triiume 
Dufteten  gar  wonniglich 
Durch  die  stillen  Riiume. 


Rauher  war  mein  Postilion, 
Liess  die  Geissel  knallen, 
Ueber  Berg  und  Thai  da  von 
Frisch  sein  Horn  erschallen. 


Und  von  flinken  Rossen  vier 
Scholl  der  Hufe  Schlagen, 
Die  durchs  bliihende  Revier 
Trabten  mit  Behagen 

Wald  und  Flur  im  schnellen  Zug 
Kaum  gegrusst — gemieden; 
Und  vorbei,  wie  Traumesflug 
Schwand  der  Dorfer  Frieden. 

Mitten  in  dem  Maiengliick 
Lag  ein  Kirchhof  innen, 
Der  den  raschen  Wanderblick 
Hielt  zu  ernstem  Sinnen. 

Hingelehnt  an  Bergesrand 
War  die  bleiche  Mauer, 
Und  das  Kreuzbild  Gottes  stand 
Hoch,  in  stummer  Trauer. 

Schwager  ritt  anf  seiner  Bahn 
Stiller  jetzt  und  triiber; 
Und  die  Rosse  hielt  er  an, 
Sah  zum  Keruz  hiniiber: 

"Halten  muss  hier  Ross  und  Rad  ! 
Mag's  Euch  nicht  geliihrden; 
Driiben  liegt  mein  Kamerad 
In  der  kiihlen  Erden  ! 


Lovely  was  the  night  of  May, 
Silvery  clouds  flew  brightly, 
O'er  the  joyous  Spring  passed  they 
Here  and  there  so  lightly. 

Slumbering  lay  both/mead  and  wood, 
Every  path  forsaken  ; 
On  the  street  the  moon  alone 
Watchful  guard  had  taken. 

Softly  spoke  the  gentle  breeze 
In  almost  breathless  numbers, 
As  Spring  her  fairy  children  led 
Through  the  realm  of  slumbers. 

Softly,  too,  the  brooklet  crept, 
While  many  a  blooming  vision 
Swept  along  the  silent  rooms 
In  perfume  nigh  elysian. 

My  postillion  rougher  was, 
He  cracked  his  whip  and,  bounding, 
Sped  away  o'er  hill  and  dale, 
Clear  his  horn  resounding. 

From  the  hoofs  of  shining  steeds 
Echoes  loud  were  sounding  ; 
As  thro'  blooming  field  and  wood 
Th'  steeds  were  onward  bounding. 

Wood  and  mead  in  rapid  flight 
Parsed  with  scarce  a  greeting  ; 
By  us  fled  the  peaceful  towns 
Like  a  dream  still  fleeting. 

Right  within  this  charming  scene 
Lay  a  churchyard  nested, 
Whereon  the  traveler's  wand'ring  sight 
Musingly  had  rested.4 

On  the  mountain  side  there  stood 
The  faded  wall  reclining, 
And.  above,  the  crucifix 
In  silent  grief  was  shining. 

The  driver  rode  along  his  path 
Stiller,  then,  to  ponder, 
And  the  horses  stopped  he  there," 
The  shining  cross  saw  yonder : 

'  'Tarry  here  must  horse  and  wheel ! 
No  fear  o'er  thee  be  creeping  ; 
Yonder  lies  my  comrade  dear, 
In  the  cold  earth  sleeping. 


36- 


'  'Kin  gar  herzlieber  Gesell  I 
Herr,  's  ist  ewig  Schade  ! 
Keiner  blies  das  Horn  so  hell, 
Wie  mein  Kamerade  ! 

"Hier  ich  immer  halten  muss, 
Dem  dort  unterm  Rasen 
Zum  getreuen  Brudergruss 
Sein  Leiblied  zu  blasen  !" 

Und  dem  Kirchhof  sandt'  er  zu 
Frohe  Wandersange, 
Dass  es  in  die  Gra"esruh' 
Seinem  Bruder  driinge 

Und  des  Homes  heller  Ton 
Klang  vom  Berge  wieder, 
Ob  der  todte  Postilion 
Stimmt   in  seine  Lieder. 

Weiter  ging's  durch  Feld  und  Hag 
Mit  verhiingtem  Ziigel ', 
Lang  mir  noch  im  Ohre  lag 
lener  Klang  vom  Hiigel. 


"Charming  fellow  was  this  lad  f 
Lasting  pity,  'tis,  sir  ! 
Clearer  notes  from  horn  ne'er  came 
Than  those  which  came  from  his,  sir  I 

"And  I  always  linger  here, 
And  send  forth  a  greeting 
To  the  dear  one  buried  there, 
His  fav'rite  air  repeating." 

Toward  the  churchyard  he  sent  out 
Such  entrancing  numbers,  [grave, 

That  well  nigh  pierced  the  dead  man's 
And  woke  him  from  his  slumbers 

Again  the  bugler's  clearer  tone 
From  the  hills  came  flying, 
Ere  the  dead  postillion  was 
In  his  songs  replying. 

Farther  on  through  field  and  wood 
The  good  steeds  quickly  bounded  ; 
Long  that  echo  from  the  hill 
In  my  ears  resounded. 


Die  Derlorene  Kirdje.— Tl)e  I$o;t  Ain^ter. 


UHLAND 


Man  horet  oft  im  fernen  Wald 
Von  obenher  ein  dumpfes  Lauten, 
Doch  Niemand  weiss,  von  wann  es  hallt, 
Und  kaum  die  Sage  kann  es  deuten. 
Von  der  verlornen  Kirche  soli 
Der  Klang  ertonen  mit  den  Winden  ; 
Einst  war  der  Pfad  von  Wallern  voll, 
Nun  weis  ihn  keiner  mehr  zu  finden. 

Jiingst  gieng  ich  in  dem  Walde  weit, 
Wo  kein  hetretnerSteig  sich  dehnet ; 
Aus  der  Verderbniss  dieser  Zeit 
Hatt'  ich  zu  Gott  mich  hingesehnet. 
Wo  in  der  Wildniss  Alles  schwieg, 
Vernahm  ich  das  Gelaute  wieder  ; 
Je  hoher  meine  Sehnsucht  stieg, 
Je  naher,  voller  klang  es  nieder. 


Mein  Geist  war  s    in  sich^  gekehrt, 
Mein  Sinn  vom  Klange  hingenommen, 
Dass  mir  es  immer  unerkliirt, 
Wie  ich  so  hoch  hinauf  gekommen. 
Mir  schien  es  mehr,  denn  hundert  Jahr', 
Dass  ich  so  hingetraumet  hiitte: 
Als  ii!>er  N'ebeln,  spnnenklar, 
Sich  oftnet,  eine  freie  Stiitte. 


Der  Himmel  war  so  dunkelblau, 
Die  Sonne  war  so  voli  und  gliihend, 


O'er  the  distant  woods  is  often  heard 
A  muffled  tone  as  from  a  bell, 
And  no  one  knows  from  whence  it  came — 
Tradition  even  scarce  can  tell. 
Of  the  Minster  Lost  the  sound,  'tis  said, 
Is  wafted  hither  by  the  breeze  ; 
Erstwhile  the  path  with  wand'rers  roamed. 
Now  found  are  none  beneath  those  trees. 

[roamed, 

Of  late  far  through  these    woods    I've 
Where  now  no  beaten  path  is  trod  ; 
Oft  longed  had  I  this  world  to  flee, 
And  refuge  find  in  thee,  oh,  God  ! 
When  all  the  woods  in  silence  slept, 
Again  that  tone  fell  on  my  ear  ; 
As  higher  my  yearning  prayer  went  up, 
The  sound    seemed    nearer     and     more 
clear. 

My  spirit  was  so  much  absorbed, 
The  sound  so  much  enraptured  me, 
That  if  I  would,  I  could  not  tell, 
How  came  I  in  such  ecstacy. 
It  seemed  a  hundred  years  or  more 
That  I  had  been  thus  fondly  dreaming, 
When  o'er  the  mists,  so  bright  and  clear, 
A  glade  appeared,  with  sunlight  gleam- 
ing 

The  heavens  were  so  darkly  blue, 
The  sun  so  full  and  brightly  beaming, 


-37- 


Und  eines  Miinsters  stolzer  Bau 
Stand  in  dem  goldenen  Lichte  bliihend 
Mir  diinkten  helle  Wolken  ihn 
Gleich  Fittigen  emporzuheben, 
Und  seines  Thurmes  Spitze  schien 
Im  sel'gen  Himmel  zu  verschweben. 

Der  Glocke  wonnevoller  Klang 
Ertonte  schiitternd  in  dem  Thiirme  ; 
Doch     zog    nicht    Menschenhand     den 

Strang, 

Sie  ward  bewegt  vom  heil'gen  Sturme. 
Mir  war's,  derselbe  Sturm  und  Strom 
Hatt  an  mein  klopfend  Herz  geschlagen  ; 
So  trat  ich  in  den  hohen  Dom       [Zagen. 
Mit  schwankem  Schritt    und  freud'gem 

Wie  mir  in  jeneni  Hallen  war, 

Das  kann  ich  nicht  mit  Wortenschildern. 

Die  Fenster  gliihten  dunkelklar 

Mit  aller  Miirtrer  frommen  Bildern  ; 

Dann  sah  ich,  wundersam  erhellt, 

Das  Bild  zum  Leben  sich  erweitern, 

Ich  sah  hinaus  in  eine  Welt 

Van  heil'gen  Frauen,  Gottesstreitern. 

Ich  kniete  nieder  am  Altar,          [strahlet. 

Von    Lieb'    und    Andacht  ganz  durch- 

Hoch  oben  an  der  Decke  war 

Des  Himmels  Glorie  gemalet ; 

Doch  als  ich  wieder  sah  empor, 

Da  war  gesprengt  der  Kuppel  Bogen, 

Geoffnet  war  des  Himmels  Thor 

Und  jede  Hiille  weggezogen. 

Was  ich  fur  Herrlichkeit  geschaut 
Mit  still  anbetendem  Erstaunen, 
Was  ich  gehort  fur  sel'gen  Laut, 
Als  Orgel  mehr  und  als  Posaunen  : 
Das  steht  nicht  in  der  Worte  Macht ; 
Doch  wer  darnach  sich  treulich  sehnet, 
Der  nehme  des  Gelaiites  Acht, 
Das  in  dem  Walde  dumpf  ertonet ! 


While  full  in  view  a  minster  proud 

In  golden  light  stood  brightly  gleaming. 

Methought  the  silvery  clouds,  like  wings, 

Upheld  on  high  the  fabric  fair, 

And  that  the  top  of  its  tall  spire 

Now  seemed  to  vanish  in  the  air. 

The  bell  rang  out  its  wondrous  tones, 
And  sent  them  trembling   through  the 

tower  ; 

Yet  'twas  not  rung  by  human  hands, 
But  by  a  holy  tempest's  power 
I  felt  that  this  same  stream  and  storm 
My  beating  heart  had  struck  with  dread; 
So  stept  I  in  the  lofty  dome 
With  gladsome  fear  and  wav'ring  tread. 

How  felt  I  wand 'ring  thro'  those  halls, 
Can  not  in  words  of  mine  be  told  ; 
The  casements  gleamed  so  darkly  clear 
With  sainted  forms  of  martyrs  old. 
Then  saw  I,  rilled  with  light  and  life, 
The  picture  as  it  wider  grew  ; 
I  looked  again,  and  lo  !  beheld 
Holy  knights  and  ladies,  too. 

I  knelt  before  the  altar  there, 
Imbued  with  holy  love  and  awe, 
And,  painted  on  the  ceiling  high, 
The  glory  of  the  heavens  I  saw. 
But  when  again  I  looked  above, 
The  vaulted  dome  had  opened  wide. 
And  opened,  too  was  heaven's  gate, 
And  every  veil  was  torn  aside. 

What  splendors  then  I   gazed  upon, 
With  worship  and  amazement  blending, 
What  blessed  sounds  fell  on  my  ear, 
Both  trump  and  organ  notes  transcending, 
Is  not  in  power  of  words  to  tell  ; 
Howe'er,  who  truly  longs  to  know, 
Let  him  go  hear  the  sounding  bell 
That  in  these  woods  is  tolling  so. 


Conrab  tDdser's  fymn—  Conrad  EDeiser'<$  H^ron. 


Composed  for  the  Dedication  of  the 
Jehovah,  Herr  und  Majestaet ! 
Hoer  unser  kindlich  Flehen  : 
Neig  deine  Ohrcn  zum  Gebet 
Der  Schaaren,  die  da  stehen 
Vor  deinem  heiligen  Angesicht : 
Verschmaehe  unsere  Bitte  nicht, 
Um  deines  Namens  willen. 

Dies  Haus  wird  heute  eingeweith 
Von  deinem  Bundes-Volke : 
Lass  uns,  Herr,  deine  Herrlichkeit 
Hernieder  in  der  Wolke, 
Dass  sie  erfuelle  dieses  Haus 
Und  treibe  alles  Boese  aus, 
Um  deines  Namens  willen. 


First  Trinity  Lutheran  Church,  1752. 
"Jehovah,  Lord  and  Mighty  One  ! 
Hear,  Thou,  our  childlike  calls  ; 
To  all  who  stand  before  Thy  face 
Within  these  sacred  walls, 
Incline,  dear  Lord,  Thy  gracious  ear, 
Nor  cast  aside  our  fervent  prayer, 
For  sake  of  Thy  dear  name. 

The  people  of  Thy  covenant 

Now  consecrate  this  place  ; 

Reveal,  O  Lord,  from  out  the  cloud 

The  splendors  of  Thy  face, 

That  it  may  flood  this  house  with  light, 

And  banish  evil  from  our  sight, 

For  sake  of  Thy  dear  name, ' 


-38- 


5ing, 


Translations  into  Pennsylvania- German  by  Mr.  Zimmerman. 


BARRY   CORNWALL. 

Sing,  maiden,  sing  ! 

Mouths  were  made  to  sing  ; 
Listen — songs  thoul't  hear 

Through  the  wide  world  ringing  ; 
Songs  from  all  the  birds, 

Songs  from  winds  and  showers, 
Songs  from  seas  and  streams, 

Even  from  sweet  flowers. 

Hearest  thou  the  rain, 

How  it  gently  falleth  ? 
Hearest  thou  the  bird, 

Who  from  the  forest  calleth  ? 
Hearest  thou  the  bee 

O'er  the  sunflower  ringing? 
Tell  us,  maiden,  now — 

Shouldst  thou  not  be  singing? 

Hearest  thou  the  breeze 

'Round  the  rose-bud  sighing? 
And  the  small  sweet  rose 

Love  to  love  replying  ? 
So  shouldst  thou  reply 

To  the  prayer  we're  bringing  ; 
So  that  the  bud,  thy  mouth, 

Should  burst  forth  in  singing  ! 


THOS. 


ZIMMERMAN. 


Sing,  Madel,  sing  ! 

Mauler  war  g'macht  fur  singe  ; 
Horch—  G'song  horscht  du 

Doreh  die  weit  Welt  ringe  ; 
G'song  von  all  die  Vogel, 

G'song  von  Schauers  und  Wind, 
G'song  von  See  und  Schtrom  — 

Ach,  die  siisse  Blume  singt. 

Horscht  du  den  Rege, 

Wie  er  saftlich  fallt? 
Horscht  du  den  Vogel, 

Der  vpm  Busch  'raus  ruuft  ? 
Horscht  die  Imme,  du, 

Uever  die  Sunnblum'  ringe  ? 
Saagt  ens,  Madel,  now  — 

Setscht  du  net  'mohl  singe  ? 

Horscht  du  net  des  schtilles  Wind 

Seufze  um  die  Rose  dort  ? 
Und  die  gleene  siisse  Rose, 

Die  wu  Lieb'  zu  Lieb'  antwort  ? 
So  setscht  du  als  Antwort  mache 

Den  G'bed',  wu  mir  dir  bringe  ; 
Dass  der  Rose-  Knopf,  dei  Maul, 

Ufschpringe  dheet  mit  Singe  ! 


A  Visit  from  3t.  Nicholas.— Die  Ztadjt  for 


MOORE. 

'Twas  the  night  before  Christmas  when 

all  .through  the  house  {mouse  ; 

Not  a  creature  was  stirring,  not  even  a 
The  stockings  were  hung  by  the  chimney 

with  care,  [there  ; 

In  hopes  that  St.  Nicholas  soon  woul,d  be 
The  children  were  nestled  all  snug  in 

their  beds,  [their  heads  ; 

While  vi-ions  of  sugar-plums  danced  in 
And  mamma  in  'kerchief  and  I  in  my 

cap,  [winter's  nap — 

Had  just  settled  our  brains  for  a  long 
When  out  on  the  lawn  there  arose  such  a 

clatter,  [the  matter. 

I  sprang  from  my  bed  to  see  what  was 
Away  to  the  window  I  flew  like  a  flash, 
Tore  open  the  shutters  and  threw  up  the 

sash.  [snow, 

The  moon,  on  the  breast  of  the  new  fallen 
Gave  a  luster  of  midday  to  objects  below; 
When,  what  to  my  wond'ring  eyes 

should  appear.  [reindeer. 

But  a  miniature  sleigh    and  eight  tiny 


ZIMMERMAN. 

'S  waar  die  Nacht  for  de  Chrischdaag 

und  dorch  es  gans  Haus          [Maus  ; 

Verreegt  sich  ke'  Thierli,  net    emol   en 

Die  Schtriimp  waare  schnock  im  Schorn- 

schte  gehunke, 

In  der  Hoffning  der  "Nick"  dheet  "graad 
runner  dschumpe  ;  [Bett, 

Die  Kinner  so  schnock  waare  all  scho  im 
Von  Zuckerschleck  draame  un  was  mer, 
doch,  wott ;  [der  Kapp, 

Die  Mamme  im  Schnupduch  un  ich  in 
Hen  uns  juscht  hi  geleegt  for'n  lang  Win- 
ter's Nap —  [nerse  Jacht, 
Dan  draus  in  'm  Hoof  waar  so  'n  dun- 
Dass  ich  ufg'schprunge  bin  zu  sehne 

war's  macht. 

An's    Fenschter  graad  schpring    ich  so 

schnell  wie'n  Flasch,  [Sasch  ! 

Die    Lade   ufg'risse,     ufg'schmisse     die 

Der  Moond    uf  der   Bruscht   dem  neu- 

g'fallne  Schnee 

Macht     elling  wie  Mitdaag,  iiwwer  alles, 
so  scho. 


-39- 


With  a  little  old  driver,    so    lively  and 

quick, 

I  knew  in  a  moment  it  must  be  St.  Nick. 
More  rapid  than  eagles  his  coursers  they 

came,  [them  by  name, — 

And  he  whistled  and  shouted  and  called 
"Now,    Dasher !      now,    Dancer !     now 

Pranzer  and  Vixen  !  [Blitzen  ! 

On  Comet !  on  Cupid  !   on   Donder  and 
To  the  top  of  the  porch,  to  the  top  ot  the 

wall,  [all  !" 

Now,  dash  away,  dash  away,  dash  away 
As  dry  leaves  that  before  the  wild  hurri- 
cane fly  [to  the  sky, 
When  they  met  with  an  obstacle,  mount 
So  up  to  the  housetop  the  coursers  they 

flew.  [Nicholas,  too. 

With    the  sleigh   lull   of  toys— and    St. 
And  then  in  a  twinkling,  I  heard  on  the 

roof  [hoof. 

The  prancing  and  pawing  of  each  little 
As  I  drew  in  my  head,  and  was  turning 

around,  [a  bound. 

Down  the  chimney  St.  Nicholas  came  with 
He  was  dressed  all  in  fur  from  his  head 

to  his  foot,  -  [ashes  and  soot ; 
And  his  clothes  were  all  tarnished  with 
A  bundle  of  toys  he  had  flung  on  his 

back,  [ing  his  pack. 

And  he  looked  like  a  peddler  just  open- 
His  eyes,  how  they  twinkled  !  his  dimples 

how  merry  !  [a  cherry  ; 

His  cheeks  were  like  roses,  his  nose  like 
His  droll  little  mouth  was  drawn  up  like 

a  bow,  [as  the  snow. 

And  the  beard  on  his  chin  was  as  white 
The  stump  of  a  pipe  he  held  tight  in  his 

teeth,  [a  wreath. 

And  the  smoke,  it  encircled  his  head  like 
He  had  a  broad  face  and  a  little  round 

belly  [full  of  jelly. 

That  shook  when  he  laughed  like  a  bowl 
He  was  chubby  and  plump — a  right  jolly 

old  elf;  [of  myself. 

And  I  laughed  when  I  saw  him  in  spite 
A  wink  of  his  eye,  and  a  twist  of   his 

head,  [to  dread. 

Soon  gave  me  to  know   I   had  nothing 
He  spoke  not  a  word,  but  went  straight 

to  his  work,  [with  a  jerk. 

And  filled  all  the  stockings  ;  then  turned 
And  laying  his  finger  aside  of  his  nose, 
And  giving  a  nod,  up  the  chimney  he 

rose.  [a  whistle, 

He  sprang  to  his  sleigh,  to  his  team  gave 
And  away  they  all  flew  like  the  down  of 

a  thistle    "  [out  of  sight, 

But  I  heard  him  exclaim,  ere  he  drove 
"Happy  Christmas  to  all,    and  to  all  a 

good-night." 


Im  e'   Aageblick  kummt,  jetz,  un  rund 

wie  e'  Kersch  [Hersch — 

E'  Fuhrmann  im  Schlidde  un  acht  kleene 
E'  Mannli  in  Pelze,  sofreundlich  un  frei — 
'Hab  graadeweck  g'wiisst's  muss  der 

Pelznickel  sei !  [zusamme, 

Wie  Aadler,  so  schnell,  sin  die  Herschlin 
Un  er  peift  un'r  ruuft,  un'r  nennt  sie  mit 

Naame  :  Jjetz  Vixen  ! 

"Jetz  Dascher  !  jetz  Danzer  !  jetz  Pranzer  ! 
Un  Komet !  un  Kupid  !  un  Dunder !  un 

Blitzen  !'  [gefalle — 

An  der  Porch  isch  er  nuff,  um  die  Mauer 
"Jetz  schpringt  eweck  !  schpringtaweck! 

schpringt  aweck  alle  !" 
Wie    laab     for'm    e    Windschtorm — der 

wildscht  das  mer  seht,  [werts  geht, 
Wann  ebbes  im  Weeg  isch  un's  himmel- 
Zum  Hausgiwwel  nuf  sin  die  Herschlin 

wie  g  floge, 
Mit?m  Schlidli  foil  Sach  un  der  "Nick" 

mit  gezoge  ;  [owwedrowe — 

Im  e'  Aageblick'  horscht  uf'm  Dach— 
En  Gescheer  un  Gedanz  wie  mit  hol'zene 

Glowwe.  [Haus— 

Mei  Kop  zieg  ich  nei,  guk  um  mich  im 
Un  im  Schornschte.  do  kummt'r  wahr- 

haftig  schun  raus  !  [Fuus, 

Mit  Peltze  ferwickelt  fon  Kop  biz  zum 
Un  alles  ferschnuttelt  mit  Aesche  un 

Ruus !  [G-'schpiel— 

Uf'm  Buckel  en  Bundel  foil  allerhand 
'S  hat  geguckt  wie  'm  Kremer  sei 

Kramm     artlig  fiel.  [die  lache — 

Sei  Maul,  wie  'n  Kersch,  un  sei  Dimple 
Sei  Aage,  die  blinzle,  und  wie  Rosa  sei 

Backe.  [Klee, 

Gans  rund  war  sei  Mauli  un  roth  wie  der 
Un  's  Schnurbiirdli  weiss  wie  woll,  oder 

Schnee  :  [Zeh, 

En  schtumpiges  Peifli,  fescht  zwische  de 
Un  der  schmpok  schteigt  in  Ringlin  so 

scho  in  die  Hoh.  [bissel 

Sei  G'sichtli  so  breed,  un  sei  Bauchli  e' 
Ueverm  Lache  hot  g'shittelt  wie  Dschelly 

in  der  Schiissel.  [Elfge, 

So  dick  un  so  rund  war  des  luschtige 
Muss  lache,  graad  aus  un  kan's  gaar  net 

helfe  [Niicken — 

Sei  Kopli  waar  eifrig  un  schwatzig  mit 
Sei  Aage,  gaar  freundlich  mit  Blinzele  un 

Blicken  ;  [frolichem  Braus, 

Die    Schtriimp    hot    'r    g'fill't,    un    mit 
Da  schpringt  inschtandig,    den   Schorn- 
schte hinaus  ;  [peift  en  Piftel, 
Dann  fliege  sie  fort   wie   Duun  fon  der 

Dischtel :  [hat  er  g'macht— 

Doch  eb'  er  gans  fort  waar,  sei  Gruss 
"En  herrliche  Chrischdaag  !  un  zu  alle, 

Guut  Nacht!" 


of 


AiR:—"T/ie  Old  Oaken  Bucket." 


How  dear  to  the  heart  are  the  meadows 

and  uplands, 

When  orchards  are  fragrant  and  burst- 
ing with  bloom  ; 
When  lanes  are  aflutter    with  life  and 

with  beauty, 
And  birds  in  the  tree-tops  are  singing 

their  tune. 
How  fondly  we  turn  to  the  shade  in  the 

wildwood, 
When  summer's  hot  breath  with  fierce 

heat  is  aglow, 
And  drink  from  the  spring,   that  recalls 

our  blest  childhood — 
The  days  when  our  hearts  were    as 
pure  as  the  snow. 

Those  golden-hued  days,  how  with  rap- 
ture we  greet  them ! 
The  Junes  of  pur  Youthland,  so  bright 

and  so  fair ; 
Though  gone  like  a  dream  from  some 

Eden  of  mem'ry, 

We  praise  them,   we  bless   them,   in 
silence  and  prayer ! 


Oh  !  dear  fellow-walkers,  though  long  we 

have  loitered 

Among  the  sweets  haunts  of  our  moun- 
tains and  dells, 
Fond  mem'ry  brings  back  its  delectable 

treasures, 

Like  echoes  of  songs  from  some  far 
distant  bells. 

They  count  not,  the  years  that  are  crowd- 
ing upon  us, 
So  long  as  our  hearts  are  in   touch 

with  life's  May ; 
The  perfume  of  flowers,  the  voice  of  the 

waters, 
The  glow  of  the  autumn,  e'en  winter's 

fierce  fray, 

But  serve  to  imbue  us  with  magical  fresh- 
ness, 
With  sweet,    subtle  breath,    like    the 

odors  of  Spring ; 
So  here's  to  the  hills,  to  the  streams  and 

the  valleys — 

To  one,  each  and  all,  our  best  oft 'rings 
we  bring. 


of  tl)e 


Am:— "Ben  BoltS 


Oh !    don't   you    remember    the    days, 

brother  John, 
The  days  when  we  tramped  o'er  the 

hills 
With  footsteps  so  light,  and  with  faces  so 

bright, 
And  with  hearts  that  were  pure  as  the 

rills? 
And  don't  you  remember  the  springs, 

brother  John, 

In  the  gloom  of  the  forest's  repose  ? 
How  'mid  merriest  sound  the  cup  went 

around, 

While,  like  incense,  our  thanks  slowly 
rose? 

And  don't  you  remember  the  flow'rs, 

brother  John, 
The  flowers  that  bloomed  'long  the 

road — 
The  hum  of  the  bees,  and  the  songs  in 

the  trees, 

And  the  murmur  of  brooks  as  they 
flowed  ? 


Let  us,  brother  John,  then,  thank  God  for 

His  love, 

For  health,  and  for  friends,  and  for  life; 
For  th'  birds  and  the  flowers,  for  the  sun, 

and  for  showers, 

Aye,  for  home,  and  for  child,  and  for 
wife. 


And  now  that  the  woodlands  are  bud- 
ding again, 

And  the  robins  are  singing  their  lay, 
And  the  streams  are  unbound,  with  wel- 
coming sound 

The  walkers  must  wend  on  their  way. 
In  the  sweet,  balmy  air  there  are  thou- 
sands of  notes, 
And  the  meadows  with    rapture    are 

thrilled, 
In  mute  words  telling,  how  hearts  should 

be  swelling, 
As  our  vision  with  blossoms  is  filled. 


-41- 


An  Address  before  the  Canstatter  Verein  by  Thos.  O.  Zimmerman. 


The  i3oth  anniversary  of  the  birthday  of  the  poet  Schiller  was  celebrated  on  the 
evening  of  November  nth,  1889,  at  their  hall,  Fifth  and  Franklin  streets,  Read- 
ing. A  large  and  deeply  interested  audience  was  present.  The  exercises  con- 
sisted of  music  and  addresses.  Following  are  the  remarks  made  by  Thos.  C. 
Zimmerman : 


I  certainly  feel  complimented  by  being 
called  upon  to  say  anything  in  this  pres- 
ence. We  have  met  to-night  to  revive  the 
glories  of  a  name  that  has  become  a  pre- 
cious heritage  to  literature — that  of 
Schiller,  the  genius  of  poesy,  romance  and 
intellectual  liberty.  One  hundred 
and  thirty  years  look  down  upon  his  warb- 
ling muse  and  sublime  fancy  as  still  de- 
lighting t  humanity.  The  eye  of  Des- 
tiny, which  has  witnessed  the  moldering 
into  dust  of  temples  and  trophies,  and 
which  has  seen  much  of  the  pomp  ot 
civilization  buried;  which  has  seen  the 
crumbling  gates  of  Troy  resolve  them- 
selves into  dust  and  every  vestige  of  the 
ruins  of  ancient  cities  wiped  from  the 
face  of  the  earth,  is  resting  lovingly  to- 
night on  the  assured  immortality  of  one 
who  wears  a  crown  brighter  than  the 
diadem  of  the  Caesars,  and  whose  glory 
and  fame  have  become  the  proud  posses- 
sion of  a  never-ending  posterity. 

The  presence  here,  to-night,  of  so  large 
an  audience  to  participate  in  celebrating 
the  natal  anniversary  of  Germany's 
most  illustrious  poet,  is  an  evidence 
not  only  of  the  existence  of  that 
instinct  which  ever  places  the  love  of 
Fatherland  supreme  in  the  German  heart, 
and  whose  all-pervading  presence  domes 
every  German  home  and  every  German 
being  like  a  sky,  but  it  is  a  living  proof  of 


an  intelligence  which  seeks  to  honor  the 
memory  of  an  imperial  mind  whose  regal 
gifts  have  enriched  the  literary  treasures 
of  the  world. 

We  have  met  here,  as  hundreds  of 
thousands  are  now  doing  all  over  the 
world,  to  pay  our  tribute  of  respect  to  the 
memory  of  one  who  was  a  very  king  in 
the  domain  of  Creative  Thought.  Cele- 
brations like  these  will  help  to  make  him 
more  than  ever  a  familiar  presence.  More 
and  more  he  is  finding  his  way  into  hu- 
man hearts  and  homes.  Under  the  force- 
ful influences  of  his  splendid  concep- 
tion, grouped  and  colored  as  they  are 
with  a  masterly  hand,  humanity  will  con- 
tinue to  be  moved  and  exalted  as  under 
the  spell  of  one  divinely  gifted. 

In  his  great  article  on  Dante,  Lowell 
recalls  the  fact  that  at  the  Round  Table 
of  King  Arthur  there  was  left  always  one 
seat  empty  for  him  who  should  accomplish 
the  adventure  of  the  Holy  Grail.  It  was 
called  the  perilous  seat  because  of  the  dan- 
gers he  must  encounter  who  would  win  it. 
In  the  company  of  the  epic  poets,  he  adds, 
there  was  a  place  left  for  whoever  should 
embody  the  Christian  idea  of  a  triumph- 
ant life,  outwardly  all  defeat,  inwardly 
victorious,  who  should  make  us  par- 
takers of  that  cup  of  sorrow  in  which  all 
are  communicants  with  Christ.  He  who 
should  do  this  would  indeed  achieve  the 


-42- 


perilous  seat,  for  he  must  combine  poesy 
with  doctrine  in  such  cunning  wise  that 
one  lose  not  its  beauty  nor  the  other  its 
sovereignty,  and  Dante  has  done  it.  says 
Lowell  exultingly.  So  with  Schiller  in 
the  realm  of  German  poesy.  In  the 
temple  consecrate  to  genius,  it  is  he  who 
occupies  the  exalted  place.  There  he 
sits  enthroned  like  a  king. 

The  better  to  form  an  estimate  of 
Schiller's  claims  on  posterity — I  mean 
now  among  English  readers — it  is  neces- 
sary to  remember  that  he  preceded  the 
great  poets  who  have  made  the  Nine- 
teenth Century  an  era  in  British  literature 
inferior  only  to  the  Elizabethan.  To 
quote  a  passage  from  a  critical  com- 
mentary of  his  works  :  "The  influence 
of  genius  circulates  insensibly,  through  a 
thousand  channels  impossible  to  trace  ; 
and,  as  in  Elizabeth's  day,  the  Italian 
mind  colored  deeply  the  very  atmos- 
phere in  which  Shakespeare  breathed  in- 
spiration, so,  in  the  earlier  years  of  the 
present  century,  the  spirit  of  Schiller 
operated  almost  equally  on  those  versed 
in,  and  those  ignorant  of,  the  German 
language.  It  affected  each  peculiar 
mind  according  to  its  own  peculiar 
idiosyncrasy — was  reflective  with 
Coleridge,  chivalrous  with  Scott,  ani- 
mated and  passionate  with  Byron,  and 
transfused  its  lyric  fire  into  the  kindling 
melodies  of  Campbell."  Schiller  him- 
self has  said  of  the  German  Muse  : 

No  Augustan  century, 
No  propitious  Medici 

Smil'd  on  German  art  when  young  ; 
Glory  nourish'd  not  her  powers, 
She  unfolded  not  her  flowers 

Princes'  fav'ring  rays  among. 
From  the  mighty  Fred'rick's  throne 
Germany's  most  glorious  son, — 

Went  she  forth,  defenceless,  spurn'd  ; 
Proudly  Germans  may  repeat, 
While  their  hearts  more  gladly  beat— 

They  themselves  their  crown  have  earned. 
Therefore  mounts  with  nobler  pride, 
Therefore  with  a  fuller  tide 

Pours  the  stream  of  German  bards  ; 
,    With  his  own  abundance  swells — 
From  the  inmost  bosom  wells — 

Chains  of  methods  disregards. 

Dear  old  Germany  !  the  land  of  those 
twin  immortals,  Schiller  and  Goethe. 
We  love  the  tenderness  of  her  song  and 
the  witchery  of  her  romance.  In  imagi- 
nation we  are  soothed  by  the  music  of 
her  shepherds'  horns  and  lulled  into 
pleasant  dreams  by  the  tinkling  of  the 


bells    upon  her  sheep  and  kine.     It  is 
there  where 

Splendor  falls  on  castle  walls 
And  snowy  summits  old  in  story; 

and  where 

The  long  light  shakes  across  the  lakes, 
And  the  wild  cataract  leaps  in  glory. 

Whether  charmed  with  her  sweetly- 
flowing  rills  or  wooed  by  the  wild  melody 
of  her  mountain  torrents  ;  whether  we 
are  stirred  by  the  languid  pulses  of  her 
summer  air,  or  awed  by  the  black  and 
frowning  strength  of  her  mountain  crags  ; 
whether  imbued  with  the  art  which  gave 
to  literature  the  incomparable  "Diver," 
the  sublimest  ballad  in  the  world  ; 
whether  thrilled  by  the  dramatic  move- 
ment of  "Wallenstein,"  or  moved  hy  the 
fierce  energy  of  "The  Robbers,  "which  has 
been  likened  to  some  ancient  rugged  pile 
of  a  barbarous  age,  Schiller  and  the  land 
of  his  birth  will  continue  to  grow  more 
and  more  resplendent — the  one  with  his 
noble  aspirations,  overpowering  genius 
and  asthetic  art  saturating  with  sweet 
discourse  the  pages  of  literature  ;  the 
other  with  its  happy  homes,  its  unity  of 
domestic  life,  its  patriotism,  its  music, 
its  philosophy,  its  history  and  its  poesy, 
making  glad  the  hearts  of  all  her  chil- 
dren everywhere,  for  it  is-  in  Germany,  as 
Schiller  himself  has  pictured  it,  where 

Man  and  the  soil  serene 
Dwell  neighbor  like  togethei— and  the  still 
Meadow  sleeps  peaceful  round  the  rural  door. 

In  conclusion,  let  me  say  that  I  am  glad 
to  see  growing  evidences  all  about  us  of  an 
ever-increasing  regard  of  the  American 
heart  for  the  sturdy  honesty  and  the  intel- 
lectual and  artistic  wealth  of  the  German 
people.  The  close  commingling  of  the 
different  portions  of  the  great  Anglo- 
Saxon  family  will  more  closely  unite  in 
one  common  bond  the  political  and  social 
sympathies  of  our  people,  and  help  to  a 
better  appreciation  of  the  duties  which 
we  owe  to  each  other,  to  society,  and  to 
government. 

Travelers,  we  are  told,  are  sometimes 
thrilled  in  seeing  for  the  first  time  the  in- 
scription, Hier  wohnte  Schiller,  over  the 
door  of  a  small  house  on  Schiller-strasse, 
in  Weimar.  Let  us  so  study  the  charac- 
ter, the  philosophy  and  the  genius  of  this 
great  poet,  that  we  may  lay  our  hands 
upon  our  hearts,  and  say  :  "HiEE  wohnte 
Schiller." 


-43- 


Mr.  T.  O.  Zimmerman's  Translation  of  Schiller's  Masterpiece  Recited  by 
Mayor  Kenney  before  the  Harmonie  Maennerchor. 


[From  the  Reading  Times,  January  24,  1889.] 

The  grand  musical  and  literary  enter- 
tainment of  the  Harmonie-Msennerchor  at 
their  hall  last  evening  was  the  superior, 
in  every  respect,  of  the  long  list  of  enter- 
tainments heretofore  given  by  this  society; 
besides,  the  rendition  of  literary  and  musi- 
cal productions  whose  authors  are 
among  us  and  are  so  well  known  to  every 
person  in  the  city,  added  an  interest  to 
the  entertainment  which  those  of  the  past 
have  lacked.  The  hall  was  filled,  every 
seat  on  the  main  floor  having  been  taken, 
while  the  east  gallery  was  crowded.  The 
full  programme  arranged  for  the  evening 
has  been  published  in  the  TIMES,  having 
appeared  in  Monday  morning's  issue. 
Harmonie-Msennerchor  orchestra  was 
first  on  the  programme,  while  the  second 
number  was  by  the  Maennerchor,  the 
title  of  the  song  being  "Weib,  Wein  und 
Gesang."  k>  Love's  Sorrow,"  a  tenor  solo 
by  Mr.  Daniel  Roland,  was  greeted  with 
hearty  applause,  and  was  followed  by 
another  selection  by  the  orchestra.  The 
part  of  the  programme  in  which  the 
greatest  interest  centered  was  then 
reached — the  recitation,  by  Mayor  James 
R.  Kenney,  of  Mr.  Thos.  C.  Zimmerman's 
translation  of  the  renowned  German  poet 
Schiller's  masterpiece,  "The  Song  of  the 
Bell  "  Many  of  the  persons  present  in 
order  to  better  catch  every  word,  rose  to 
their  feet  as  Mr.  VVm.  Rosenthal  stepped 
to  the  front  and  said  : 


MR.    ROSENTHAL' s    INTRODUCTOBY    RE- 
MARKS. 

"Please  permit  me  to  invite  your  special 
kind  attention  to  the  recitation,  an- 
nounced in  to-night's  programme,  of  a 
masterpiece  of  German  poetry,  Schiller's 
"Song  of  the  Bell,"  as  translated  into 
English  by  our  gifted  townsman,  Thomas 
C.  Zimmerman.  It  has  been  -my  good 
fortune  to  receive  an  advance  copy  from 
my  esteemed  friend,  thus  enabling  me  to 
read  carefully  and  to  compare  his  work 
with  a  number  of  previous  translations 
rendered  by  celebrated  authors.  Dr. 
Furness's  translation  has  been  pro- 
nounced to  be  the  standard  work  hereto- 
fore ;  Sir  Bulwer  Lytton  painted  an  ad- 
mirable poetical  picture  of  the  song. 
Elliot,  Baskerville,  Earl  of  Ellsmere, 
Dwight  and  Frothingham,  and  other 
eminent  writers  furnished  highly  credit- 
able productions,  and  Edgar  Bowring 
came  nearest  in  my  judgment  to  the  ideal 
representation  of  the  original  in  the  Eng- 
lish language  It  has  been  well  said, 
that  an  English  Schiller  himself  would 
not  be  able  to  do  full  justice  to  the  Ger- 
man original  of  the  Bell  in  the  English 
language.  When  I,  in  the  face  oif  all 
these  celebrated  translations,  emphati- 
cally express  my  own  opinion  that 
Thomas  C  Zimmerman's  work  is  not 
excelled  by  any  one  so  far  rendered, 
and  is  superior  in  many  fine  points, 
I  assure  you,  that  it  is  not  personal 


-44- 


admiration,  but  true  conviction,  that 
prompts  me  to  proclaim  this  my 
judgment  from  this  stand.  It  is  an  en- 
tirely new  and  original  work;  it  is  in  its 
metrical  adaptation  to  the  original  poem 
almost  perfect ;  its  poetical  form  and  ex- 
pression is  chaste,  true  and  lofty,  and  the 
contemporaneous  surroundings  of  a  cen- 
tury ago,  which  Schiller's  creation  neces- 
sarily would  reflect,  have  diligently  been 
searched  and  thus  enabled  the  author  to 
present  a  more  faithful  adherence  to  the 
German  original  than  most  of  his  co- 
translators  have  succeeded  in  doing. 
This  work  will  be  recited  by  the  Hon. 
James  R  Kenney." 

MAYOR  KENNEY'S  APPEARANCE. 
Mayor  Kenney's  appearance  was 
greeted  with  hearty  applause,  but 
scarcely  had  the  first  words  of  his  pre- 
liminary remarks  been  uttered  when  the 
audience  quieted  down  and  listened  to 
him  with  the  most  marked  attention. 
Mr.  Kenney's  rendition  of  the  translation 
was  well  worthy  of  the  compliments  it 
received  from  those  who  heard  him. 
Although  having  less  than  a  week's  time 
to  study  the  poem,  he  seemed  to  have 
thoroughly  grasped  the  picture  the 
,  author  so  beautifully  paints  in  words, 
and  presented  it  to  his  hearers  in  such  a 
way  as  to  also  bring  to  their  minds, 
through  Mr.  Zimmerman's  translation,  a 
more  full  understanding  of  what  the  poet 
saw  before  him  when  he  penned  the  im- 
mortal lines. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  recitation  the 
applause  was  deafening,  and  cries  of 
"Zimmerman"  came  from  all  parts  of  the 
hall,  and  only  ceased  when  Mr.  Zimmer- 
man stepped  to  the  platform  and  said  : 

MR.  ZIMMERMAN'S  REMARKS. 
"I  thank  you  for  this  mark  of  apprecia- 
tion. Expressions  like  this  are  a  pleasure 
and  a  recompen-e — a  pleasure  in  that 
they  convey  the  good  wishes  of  kindly 
disposed  neighbors  and  friends  ;  a  recom- 
pense in  that  they  bring  to  honest  en- 
deavor the  coveted  "well  done!  '  It  is 
not  my  purpose,  however,  to  inflict  a 
speech  upon  you,  as  I  am  not  practised 
in  the  graces  of  pub  ic  utterance,  and  so, 
with  your  permission,  I  will  briefly  re- 
count, although  in,  perhaps,  less  inviting 
form,  the  exalted  virtues  of  one  whose 
epic  and  dramatic  idealism,  impassioned 
eloquence,  and  artistic  grace  and  felicity, 


gave  to  the  world  of  German  literature, 
next  to  Goethe,  the  greatest  poet  Ger- 
many has  produced.  I  need  hardly  say 
that  I  refer  to  Friederich  von  Schiller, 
the  author  of '  'Das  Lied  von  der  Glocke, ' ' 
the  finest  of  his  lyrics,  which,  in  common 
with  many  others,  I  have  attempted  to 
translate  for  English  readers,  and  which 
translation  Mayor  Kenney  has  rendered 
so  acceptably  this  evening.  No  less  an 
illustrious  personage  than  Bulwer,  who 
himself  has  made  a  translation  of  all  the 
metrical  productions  of  Schiller,  character- 
izes this  great  German  poet  as  "the  rep- 
resentHtive  of  the  civilization  of  Northern 
Manhood  and  Christian  sentiment."  "In 
his  poems,"  says  Bulwer,  may  be  seen 
"a  great  and  forcible  intellect  uniting 
with  a  golden  chain  the  outer  world  and 
the  inner  to  the  Celestial  Throne  :"  the 
vocation  of  whose  Muse  '  is  a  Religious 
Mission,  who  loses  not  her  spiritual  pre- 
rogative, though  shorn  of  her  stately 
pageantry,  and  despoiled  of  her  festive 
robes  ;  whose  power  to  convert  and  to 
enlighten,  to  purify  and  to  raise,  depends 
not  on  the  splendor  of  her  appearance, 
but  on  the  truths  that  she  proclaims." 

To  thoroughly  appreciate  a  genius  like 
Schiller,  with  all  the  subtleties  of  his  ex- 
pression, the  robust  character  of  his 
verse,  its  classic  rhythm  and  sublime 
energy,  one  should  be  able  to  understand 
the  original  form  into  which  his  work 
was  fashioned.  His  is  not  "the  lay  that 
lightly  floats;  "  his  not  the  murmuring, 
dying  cadences 

"That  fall  as  soft  as  suow  on  the  sea, 
And  nielt  in  the  heart  as  instantly  ;" 

but  more  like 

"The  passionate  strain  that,  deeply  going, 
Refines  the  bosom  it  trembles  through, 
As  the  musk-wind,  over  the  water  blowing, 
Ruffles  the  wave,  but  sweetens  it,  too." 

Aye,  more.  All  through  his  poetical 
works  there  is  noticeable,  on  every  hand, 
a  rugged  loftiness  of  purpose  and  a 
grandeur  of  diction,  suggestive  oftimes  ot 
tenderness,  as  well  as  majesty,  and 
quickening  power ;  that  deepens  the 
moral  convictions  of  men,  and  enlarges 
and  intensifies  their  spiritual  conceptions. 
Much  of  this  necessarily  escapes  in  trans- 
lation, "even  if,"  as  Bulwer  expresses  it, 
"an  English  Schiller  were  himself  to 
translate."  Again  I  thank  you  for  you 
patient  attention. 


-45- 


Oordial  Reception  of  Mr.  Zimmerman's  Translation  of  Schiller's  Famous 
Poem.— Tributes  from  all  Quarters. 


Following  extracts  are  from  some  of  the 
many  kind  letters  and  notices  received 
by  Mr.  Thos.  C.  Zimmerman  in  reference 
to  his  recent  translation  into  English  of 
Schiller's  famous  "Das  Lied  von  der 

Gloclce."  

Letter  From  Oswego  State  Normal  School. 

Prof.  Otto  H.  L  Schwetzky,  instructor 
in  German  and  Latin  in  the  State  Nor- 
mal School,  Oswego,  N.  Y.,  wrote  as 
follows  : 

"I  have  just  read  in  Germania  a  part 
of  your  translation  of  Schiller's  Glocke, 
and  am  struck  with  its  beauty  and  faith- 
fulness I  must  have  the  whole  of  your 
translation  for  my  German  class.  *  *  * 
Being  a  German,  an  enthusiastic  reader 
of  Schiller  and  a  teacher  of  German,  I 
can  appreciate  your  almost  marvelous 
success.  The  transformation  worked  by 
you  is  such  as  we  are  wont  to  find  in 
fairy  tales  only,  where  we  accept  the 
wonderful  without  asking  any  questions, 
because  every  thing  seems  natural 
enough,  after  bewilderment  has  changed 
to  fascination. 

Your  translation  proves  the  maxim, 
that  the  simplest  solution  of  a  problem  is 
the  one  nearest  the  truth.  May  I  venture 
to  guess  at  the  secrets  of  your  workshop  ? 
Did  you  not  set  out  to  translate  every 
word  by  itself?  and  when  you  had  them  | 
all,  did  you  not  put  them  together  as  you 
would  a  number  of  marbles  on  a  plate, 
just  large  enough  for  the  marbles  to 
cover  its  bottom,  and  then  with  one 


masterly  movement  give  a  shake  that 
made  every  marble  get  into  line,  the 
whole  representing  a  symmetrical,  com- 
plete picture,  which  nothing  can  im- 
prove ?" 


Letter  From  Canada. 

A.  Purslow,  M.  A.,  LL.  D.,  headmaster 
of  Port  Hope  High  School,  Ontario, 
Canada,  says: 

"I  have  checked  a  few  of  the  crucial 
verses  in  your  translation  of  Schiller's 
'The  Song  of  the  Bell,'  and  would  add 
mine  to  the  many  compliments  you  have 
already  received  were  I  not  afraid  that 
they  would  be  as  unnoticed  as  a  small 
boy  in  a  crowd.  I  consider  myself  for- 
tunate in  securing  a  copy  of  so  excellent 
a  translation  of  my  favorite  German 
poem." 


From  the  Argentine  Republic. 

Maj.  O.  C  James,  writing  from  Car- 
carana,  Argentine  Republic,  S.  A.,  said, 
among  other  things: 

"I  am  not  familiar  enough  with  the 
German  to  read  poetry  with  any  great 
sense  of  its  beauty,  hence  The  Song  of 
:he  Bell'  in  the  original  was  a  sealed 
book.  Your  translation,  therefore,  ap- 
peals to  me  with  all  the  force  of  a  first 
presentation  in  strong,  terse,  yet  musi- 
cally-flowing English.  I  read  it  with 
great  pleasure,  and  need  not  say  that  you 
have  my  hearty  congratulations  on  your 
great  achievement  " 


.46 


Kind  Words  From  California. 

Nathan  Stein,  teller  in  Wells  Fargo  & 
Go's.  Bank,  San  Francisco,  writes  thus: 

"I  rejoice  to  find  the  honor  has  fallen 
on  a  'Lebanon  county  boy'  (of  which  I'm 
one  myself,  though  born  in  Dauphin,)  of 
making  so  fine  and  approved  a  transla- 
tion of  so  great  a  German  original.  It 
has  always  appeared  to  me  among  the 
'Pennsylvania  Dutch'  who  have  been 
blessed  with  opportunities — or  impelling 
power  to  help  themselves — should  be 
found  the  ablest  interpreters,  to  English 
readers,  of  the  treasures  of  German  litera- 
ture, and  in  such  as  Bayard  Taylor's  and 
yours  I  find  the  record  fairly  started 
that  will  confirm  my  opinion.  You  have 
my  hearty  good  wishes  for  all  future 
endeavors  you  may  make  in  that  line." 


Letter  From  Berlin,  Germany. 

Theodore  Liebermann,  of  San  Fran- 
cisco, wrote  from  Berlin,  Germany,  in 
these  words: 

"The  translation  of  the  Glocke  which 
I  admired  so  much  in  its  recitation  to 
the  steamship's  company  on  board  the 
steamer  Lahn  by  Capt.  Andrews,  a 
fellow-passenger  from  Toronto  Canada, 
and  which  I  borrowed  the  next  day  for 
careful  personal  reading,  I  should  like  to 
have.  Please  send  me  a  copy  to  Berlin. 
I  wish  to  offer  you  my  compliments  for 
the  rare  talent  you  have  shown  in  the 
work  of  translation. ' ' 


The  Philadelphia  "Demokrafs"  High  Compliment. 


The  Philadelphia  Demokrat  of  the 
ultimo  contains  the  following  very  com- 
plimentary notice  : 

"An  eminent  translator  of  German  clas- 
sical poems  into  the  English  is  Mr 
Thomas  C.  Zimmerman,  editor  of  the 
Reading  TIMES.  A  large  number  of 
such  translations  have  been  already  pub- 
lished. They  excel  riot  only  in  choice 
poetical  language,  but  also  by  a  most 
faithful  adherence  to  the  original,  and 
well  deserve  to  be  compiled  into  one 
general  edition.  The  latest,  which  Mr. 
Zini'i  erman  has  furnished,  is  a  transla- 
tion of  Schiller's  "Bell."  There  are  al- 
ready existing  a  number  of  excellent 
translations  into  the  English  of  the  "Bell" 
from  Bulwer's  to  Rev.  Furness's  of  Phila- 
delphia, which  up  to  the  present  time 
has  been  judged  to  be  the  best,  but 
which,  indeed,  is  excelled  by  that  of  Mr. 
Zimmerman  in  the  accuracy  of  the  ren- 
dition of  the  original  " 


From  the  Editor  of  the  New  York  Times. 

C.  R.  Miller,  editor-in-chief  of  the 
New  York  Times,  sent  the  following: 

"I  have  lately  seen  a  copy  of  your 
translation  of  Schiller's  'Song  of  the 
Bell,'  and  have  been  so  much  struck  by 
its  fidelity  and  excellence  that  I  make 
bold  to  ask  you  where  and  how  I  can 
obtain  it." 


"A  Triumph  of  the  Translator's  Art." 

[From  the  New  York  World.] 

Thomas  C.  Zimmerman,  editor  of  the 
Reading  (Pa.)  TIMES,  has  made  a  fine 
translation  of  Schiller's  "S-:ng  of  the 
Bell."  Mr.  Zimmerman's  rendering  is  a 
triumph  of  the  translator's  art,  and  recalls 
the  work  of  Bayard  Taylor. 


"An  Admirable  Translation." 
J.  G.  Rosengarten,  Esq.,  one  of  Phila- 
delphia's leading  attorneys,  writes  as  fol- 
lows : 

"I  congratulate  you  on  being  a  poet  who 
is  honored  at  home  ;  it  is  an  augury  of 
good  things  yet  to  come." 

Prof.  F.  A.  Muhlenberg's  Greetings. 

Prof.  F.  A  Muhlenberg,  late  Professor 
of  Greek  in  the  University  of  Pennsyl- 
vania, writes  under  date  of  the  26th 
ultimo  : 

"I  have  read  with  great  interest,  and 
great  pleasure,  your  spirited  translation 
of  Schiller's  "Song  of  the  Bell."  It  is  a 
real  masterpiece  of  poetic  work,  on  your 
part,  for  the  translation,  owing  to  the 
constantly  varying  rhythms  of  the  origi- 
nal presents  peculiar  difficulties.  I  have 
read  over  your  translation  several  times, 
with  admiration  of  your  success  ;  and  am 
disposed  to  say  you  are  competent  to 
grapple  with  any  difficulties  in  German 
poetry,  after  such  a  specimen. 

I  cannot  do  anything  else  than  praise 
your  industry,  and  wise  economy  of  time; 
in  laboring,  in  this  delightful  department 
of  literature,  for  your  own  pleasure  and 
profit,  and  the  benefit  of  the  present  and 
future  generations. 

I  hope,  when  you  have  a  sufficiency  of 
your  literary  labors  on  hand,  you  will 
have  them  collected  in  a  volume,  for  our 
permanent  possession." 


N.  Y.  Herald's  High  Praise. 
Mr.  Thomas  C.  Zimmerman,  one  of  the 
proprietors  of  the  Reading  TIMES,  has 
placed  his  name  in  the  category  of  famous 
litterateurs  by  a  very  creditable  transla- 
tion of  Schiller's  "Song  of  the  Bell." 


-47- 


What  B.  P.  Shillaber  Says. 

B.  P.  Shillaber.  (Mrs.  Partington, )  Bos- 
ton, writes  of  the  translation  : 

*  *  "The  sturdiness  of  the  poem  at- 
tests its  fidelity,  and  I  think  there  is  a 
self-evidence  of  this  .in  the  construction  of 
the  versification,  and  to  read  it  one  might 
be  lead  to  say,  with  the  New  Jersey  jus- 
tice, ^hen  opposing  evidence  was  called 
for  in  a  certain  case,  "You  needn't  bring 
it  on— my  mind  is  made  up."  I  congrat- 
ulate you  on  the  success  you  have 
achieved,  and  trust  that  you  may  be  led 
to  gather  all  you  have  written  and  give  it 
to  the  world  in  books.  *  * 


Judge  McPherson's  Beautiful  Tribute. 

Under  date  of  Jan.  29th,  Hon.  John  B. 
McPherson,  additional  law  judge  of  the 
Dauphin-Lebanon  judicial  district,  writes 
as  follows  : 

"It  is  not  given  to  every  translator  to 
follow  faithfully  his  original  and  yet  pre- 
serve its  felicities  both  of  thought  and 
expression,  and  that  you  have  so  abun- 
dantly succeeded  in  an  effort  of  unusual 
difficulty  is  convincing  proof  that  you 
have  had  the  invaluable  aid  of  that  inner, 
imaginative  sympathy  without  which 
translation  is  mechanical  work  hardly 
worth  doing." 


Congratulations  from  California. 

Mr.  John  S.  Hittell,  historian  ot  the 
Golden  State,  and  a  gentleman  of  pro- 
found scholarly  attainments,  sends  the 
following : 

1025  HYDE  STREET, 
SAN  FRANCISCO,  Feb.  2,  1889 
ME  T.  C.  ZIMMERMAN  : 

Dear  Sir : — Let  me  congratulate  you 
on  the  merit  of  your  translation  of  "£>as 
Lied  von  der  Clocke"  by  Schiller,  pub- 
lished in  the  Reading  TIMES  AND  DIS- 
PATCH of  the  24th  ult : 

I  would  like  still  more  to  congratulate 
you  on  making  your  journal  a  steadfast 
and  influential  advocate  of  the  study  ot 
high  German  by  the  Pennsylvania  Ger- 
mans, who  can  learn  it  easily  and  will 
not  forget  it,  as  they  do  their  French  and 
their  Latin.  Next  to  the  English,  the 
German  language  has  the  richest  of  all 
literatures ;  and  in  many  branches  it  is 
worth  more  to  the  scholar  than  all  other 
foreign  tongues,  ancient  and  modern  to- 
gether. 

I  am  a  Pennsylvania  German  by  birth  ; 
I  have  studied  three  ancient  languages  ; 
I  speak  four  of  the  tongues  of  modern 
Continental  Europe ;  and  therefore  I 
know  something  of  what  *  write. 


What  Geo.  G.  Barclay  Writes. 

Geo.  G.  Barclay,  Esq  ,  for  many  years 
a  practitioner  at  the  Berks  county  bar, 
late  of  Philadelphia,  deceased,  wrote  thus: 

Deaf  Zimmerman: — I  have  just  read  a 
pamphlet  copy  of  your  translation  of 
Schiller's  masterpiece,  "The  Song  of  the 
Bell,"  and  I  am  delighted  with  it.  It 
has  touched  my  heart,  and  affected  my 
head,  as  a  glass  of  sparkling  champagne, 
such  as  we  used  to  have  in  "the  olden 
time,"  when  there  was  champagne.  If 
you  were  not  of  "Old  Berks,"  *  * 
that  piece  of  yours  would  be  applauded 
to  the  very  echo  that  doth  applaud  again 

I  have  read  Bulwer,  but  his  translation 
has  not  left  upon  my  mind  the  impression 
that  I  know  yours  will.  I  have  forgotten 
his  ;  I  doubt  whether  I  will  as  soon  for- 
get your  fine  translation. 

Allow  me  to  say — and  I  don't  intend  to 
flatter — that  I  think  and  know  that  there 
is  a  good  deal  of  poetry  in  your  make 
which  ought  to  be  better  appreciated  than 
it  is,  but — but — but — "a  prophet  is  not 
without  honor  save  in  his  own  country.1' 


Praise  from  Robert  J.  Burdette. 

Under  date  of  the  29th  ultimo.  Robert 
J.  Burdette,  the  world-renowned  humor- 
ist, writes  from  Bryn  Mawr,  as  follows  : 

My  dear  friend  Zimmerman : — I  have 
just  been  reading  the  "Song  of  the  Bell" 
— Schiller  interpreted  by  Zimmerman. 
Happy  the  poet  who  hath  an  interpreter 
whose  heart  throbs  in  harmony  and  ca- 
dence with  his  own. 

So  be  the  mission  of  your  pen,  my 
friend — 

" This  henceforth  its  calling  be 

****** 

*  *  a  voice  from  heaven, 

I/ike  yonder  starry  hosts,  so  clear, 
Who  in  their  course  extol  their  Maker, 
And  onward  lead  the  wreath-crowned  year. 
To  earnest  things  and  things  eternal, 
Devoted  be  its  metal  tongue." 

Itself  hath  written  its  own  prophecy  ! 


What  Pres't  White,  of  Cornell,  Says. 

President  White,  of  Cornell  University, 
writes  as  follows  : 

That  your  work  obeys  the  chief  requi- 
site for  a  translation  of  a  poem, — fidelity 
to  the  original  metre  and  rime, — is  not 
the  least  of  its  merits.  And  I  trust  that 
one  influence  from  its  publication  will  be 
to  attract  more  readers  to  become  better 
acquainted  with  the  many  noble  lyric 
utterances  of  Schiller  himself." 


48 


A  Scholarly  Review. 

The  following  ably-written  criticism  is 
from  the  pen  of  J.  B.  Ker,  who,  while  a 
resident  of  Scotland,  once  stood  for 
Parliament : 

To  Coi..  T.  C.  ZIMMERMAN  —Sir: 
Having  read  and  studied  your  notable 
translation  of  Schiller's  "Song  of  the 
Bell,"  I  have  been  forcibly  impressed  by 
the  music  of  the  language  into  which  you 
have  rendered  the  poem.  This  is  a  merit 
oi  capital  importance  in  the  translation  of 
this  poem  In  estimating  the  value  of 
translations  of  the  great  German  poems, 
it  is  necessary  to  bear  in  mind  the  weight 
which  the  literary  and  critical  conscious- 
ness of  Germany  attached  to  the  ancient 
classical  canons  of  poetry.  There  is  no 
question  here  as  to  whether  the  ancients 
were  right  The  point  for  us  is  that  their 
influence  was  loyally  acknowledged  as  of 
high  authority  during  the  Augustan  age 
of  German  literature.  Proof  of  this  can 
be  found  in  Goethe  as  distinctly  as  it 
superabundantly  appears  in  Lessing's 
famous  "Dramatic  Notes,"  where  the 
poetic  dicta  of  Aristotle  are  treated  with 
profound  respect. 

In  the  study  of  Aristotle's  work  on  the 
Poetic,  nothing  is  perhaps  more  striking 
than  his  dictum  that  poetry  is  imitation, 
with  the  explanation  or  enlargement  so 
aptly  given  by  Pope  in  the  words  : 

'Tis  not  enough  no  harshness  gives  offence, 
The  sound  must  se  man  echo  to  the  sense. 
Soft  is  the  strain  when  zephyr  gently  blows, 
And  the  smooth  stream  in  smoother  numbers 

flows  : 

But  when  loud  surges  lash  the  sounding  shore, 
The  hoarse,  rough  waves  should  like  the  torrent 

roar 
When  Ajax  strives  some  rocks  vast  weight  to 

throw. 

The  line,  too,  labors,  and  the  words  move  slow, 
Not  so  when  swift  Camilla  scours  the  main, 
Flies  o'er  the  unbending  corn,  or  skims  along 

the  plain. 

Now  knowing  the  German  recognition 
of  the  law  and  acknowledging  its  realiza- 
tion in  the  works  of  the  leading  Teutonic 
poets,  one  of  the  crucial  tests  of  a  trans- 
lation of  a  great  German  poem  is,  Does 
the  language  into  which  the  original  is 
rendered  form  an  "echo to  the  sense?" 

It  seems  to  me  that  one  of  the  strongest 
points  in  your  translation  of  the  "Bell"  is 
that  the  words  which  you  have  selected 
and  gathered  have  sounds,  which  like  the 
music  of  a  skillful  musical  composer, 
convey  a  signification  independently  of 
their  literal  meaning.  Not  to  protract 
these  remarks  unduly,  few  words  could 
more  appropriately  refer  to  the  music  of 
strong  and  distant  bells  than  your  render- 


"That  from  the  metal's  unmixed  founding 
Clear  and  full  may  the  bell  be  sounding." 

Very  slight  poetic  capacity  must  admit 
the  music  of  these  words  as  eminently 
happy  in  the  ' '  Song  of  the  Bell .' ' 

The  echo  to  the  sense  is  also  striking 
in  the  sound  of  the  word-symbols  in 
many  places  throughout  the  rendering 
where  the  poet  describes  the  occurrences 
conceived  in  connection  with  the^belFs 
imagined  history. 

Speaking  of  the  visions  of  love 

"0,  that  they  ivoul    be  never-ending, 
These  vernal  days  ivith  lovelight  blending'" 

the  way  in  which  the  penult  of  the  word 
''ending"  conveys  the  idea  of  finality, 
while  the  affix  ot  the  present  participle 
yet  prolongs  the  word  as  though  loath  to 
let  it  depart,  is  a  beautiful  and  enviable 
realization  of  the  Aristotelian  rule,  a  pro- 
longation of  the  words  which  expresses 
doubly  a  prolongation  of  desire. 

The  four  lines  reading  : 

"Blind  raging,  like  the  thunder's  crashing, 

It  bursts  its  fractured  bed  of  earth, 

As  if  from  put  hell's  jaws  fierce  flashing, 

It  spewed  its  flaming  ruin  forth," 

have  a  vehement  strength  and  a  rough 
and  even  a  painful  and  horrid  sound 
which  apply  with  singular  propriety  to 
the  horrible  images  by  which  the  poet 
presents  the  catastrophe  to  our  quickened 
apprehensions. 
The  beautiful  lines : 

"Joy  to  me  now  God  hath  given,"  &c. 

in  which  the  bell-founder  exults,  avoid- 
ing, as  they  do,  the  deeper  vowel  sounds 
and  preserving  as  it  were  a  series  of  high 
musical  notes  save  where  the  gift  de- 
scends from  Heaven  to  earth  when  the 
vowel  sounds  fall  from  high  to  low,  form 
a  delightful  resonance  of  the  happy  senti- 
ment they  embody. 

The  general  experience  of  translations 
is  that  they  are  more  prosy  than  sonorous 
or  musical.  Few,  however,  if  any,  will 
deny  the  melody  of  your  language  in 
many  places  and  its  remarkable  appro- 
priateness in  others,  and  those  who  have 
worked  on  similar  translations  can  best 
iudge  how  great  is  the  success  you  have 
accomplished  in  this  valuable  contribu- 
tion to  Angl  -Saxon  literature. 


"Recalling  the  Finest  Works  of  Bayard  Taylor." 

[From  the  Philadelphia  Times.] 

Thomas  C  Zimmerman,  editor  of  the 
Reading  TlMES,  has  made  a  fine  transla- 
tion of  Schiller's  "Song  of  the  Bell," 
which  is  said  to  recall  some  of  the  finest 
works  of  Bnvard  Tavlor 


-49- 


A  Cotemporary's  Cordial  Greeting. 

To  the  Reading  Evening  Telegram, 
the  translator  is  indebted  for  the  follow- 
ing graceful  compliment : 

''Editor  Zimmerman,  ol  the  TIMES,  has 
had  the  many  complimentary  newspaper 
notices  of  his  translation  of  Schiller's 
4  'Song  of  the  Bell,"  together  with  the  let- 
ters of  congratulation  of  personal  friends 
and  literatteurs  printed  with  his  transla- 
tion in  pamphlet  fcrm.  This  book  is  a 
treasure  house  filled  with  the  sweet  in- 
cense of  praise,  the  reward  of  well-spent 
time  and  labor,  and  shows  that  the  popu- 
lar appreciation  will  follow  all  deserving 
effort.  Editor  Zimmerman's  literary 
work,  the  largest  part  of  which  is  in  the 
columns  of  the  TIMES,  has  always  borne 
the  impress  of  a  scholarly  taste,  and 
some  of  his  best  efforts  have  been  his 
sketches  of  nature  as  he  saw  it  in  his 
rambles  about  the  city.  That  he  should 
have  been  able  to  make  translations  ot 
the  German  classical  lyrics  is  not  sur- 
prising, for  he  possesses  the  gift  of  poesy 
which  only  needed  occasion  for  its  devel- 
opment It  will  he  far  more  surprising  if 
he  is  not  accorded  the  place  in  the  world 
of  letters  which  he  should  occupy  " 


"Germania's"  Criticism  of  the  Translation. 

From  a  criticism  published  in  Ger- 
mania,  a  monthly  magazine  published  in 
Boston,  the  following  extracts  are  made  : 

Wir  haben  schon  friiher  einmal  darauf 
hingewiesen  welch'  vortreffliches  Mittel 
der  aufmerksame  Vergleich  einer  guten 
Uebersetzung  mit  dem  Originale  jedem 
Studierenden  an  die  Hand  giebt,  urn  in 
den  Geist  der  Sprache  einzudringen. 
Selten  haben  wir  uns  von  der  Wahrheit 
dieser  Behauptung  so  Ueberzeugt  ge- 
fuhlt  wie  beim  Lesen  der  trefflichen  Ueber- 
setzung des  Herrn  Zimmermann.  Herr 
Zimmermann  ist  kein  Neulingin  der  Ueb- 
ersetzungskunst,  wie  wir  horen,  hat  er 
schon  manches  herrliche  deutsche  Ge- 
dicht:  "Die  Lorelei,"  "Erlkonig,"  "Em 
feste  Burg  ist  unser  Gott,"  u.  a.  ins 
Englische  iibertragen,  und 'sich  durch 
seine  genaue  und  dichterische  Wieder- 
gabe  des  Originals  die  hochste  Anerken- 
nung  erwprben.  Wir  miissen  gestehn 
dass  wir  seine  Uebersetznng  von  Schiller's 
Lied  von  der  Glocke  aber  doch  mit 
einem  gewissen  Zweifel  in  die  Hand 
nahmen.  Die  Aufgabe,  dieses  herrliche 
Gedicht  zu  iibersetzen,  ist  eine  so  un- 
geheure,  die  Uebersetzungen  der  tiichtig- 
sten  Manner  standen  so  tief  under  dem 
Original,  dass  sie  uns  fast  unmoglich 
vorkam.  YVunderbar  hat  sich  Herr 


Zimmermann  seiner  Aufgabe  entledigt. 
Seine  Uebersetzung  erreicht  das  Original 
nicht,  sie  kommt  demselben  aber  wohl 
am  niichsten.  Einige  Stellen  sind  mit 
soldier  Meisterschaft  wiedergegeben,  wie 
es  nur  ein  Genie,  ein  hochbegabter 
Dichter  vermag.  *  *  * 

'Lust  und  Liebe  sind  die  Fittiche  zu 
grossen  Thaten',  das  sieht  man  recht  an 
dem  Werke  des  Herrn  Zinmermann. 
Moge  das  Lob,  welches  er  sich  durch 
diese  Arbeit  erworben  hat,  den  Verfasser 
zu  iinlichen  Werken  anspornen,  das  ist 
unser  innigster  Wunsch. 

[TRANSLATION.] 

Upon  a  previous  occasion  we  have 
pointed  out  the  excellent  means  which 
are  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  student  to 
enter  into  the  spirit  of  a  language  by  a 
careful  comparison  of  a  creditable  trans- 
lation with  the  original  Seldom  have 
we  felt  so  convinced  of  the  truth  of  this 
assertion,  as  by  reading  the  excellent 
translation  of  Mr.  Zimmerman.  Mr. 
Zimmerman  is  no  novice  in  the 
art  of  translation,  as  we  are  in- 
formed; he  has  translated  into  English 
many  a  beautiful  German  poem  such  as 
"The  Lorelei,"  "Erlking,"  "A  Rock- 
Bound  Fortress  is  our  God, "'  and  others, 
and  by  his  accurate  and  poetic  rendition 
of  the  original  earned  the  highest  recog- 
nition. We  must  admit  that  we  took  in 
hand  his  translation  of  Schiller's  "Song 
of  the  Bell"  with  certain  misgivings. 
The  task  of  translating  this  beautiful 
poem  is  so  enormous;  the  translations  of 
the  most  capable  men  stood  so  far  beneath 
the  original  that  it  appeared  to  us  a 
feat,  well  nigh  impossible. 

Wonderfully  has  Mr  Zimmerman  ac- 
quitted himself  of  his  task.  His  transla- 
tion does  not  reach  the  original;  it  how- 
ever, comes  nearest  to  it.  Several  parts 
are  rendered  in  such  masterly  manner, 
as  only  a  genius,  a  highly-gifted  poet,  is 
enabled  to  do. 

'Pleasure  and  love  are  the  wings  to 
great  deeds' ;  this  can  be  particularly  seen 
in  this  work  of  Mr  Zimmerman.  May 
the  praise,  which  he  has  received  through 
this  work,  inspire  the  author  to  similar 
works,  is  our  most  ardent  wish. 


What  the  San  Francisco  "Call"  Says. 

Thomas  C.  Zimmerman,  editor  of  the 
Reading  TIMES,  has  made  a  fine  transla- 
tion of  Schiller's  "Song  of  the  Bell," 
which  is  said  to  recall  some  of  the  finest 
works  of  Bayard  Taylor. 


-50 


"A  Remarkable  Production." 

John  W.  Mish,  Esq.,  of  Lebanon,  in  a 
letter  dated  the  3cth  ultimo,  says  : 

' '  Dear  Mr.  Zimmerman  : — Your  trans- 
lation of  Schiller's  "Song  of  the  Bell"  is  a 
remarkable  production — following  ex- 
actly the  peculiar  metrical  construction 
of  the  original  throughout  and  yet  re- 
taining the  absolute  literal  expression  of 
the  author. 

Evidences  of  a  discernment  extraordi- 
nary, united  with  poetic  genius,  from 
which  still  higher  flights  can  be  antici- 
pated. 

To  the  translator  I  tender  my  warmest 
congratulations,  and  hope  soon  to  wel- 
come an  Epic  or  an  Idyl  from  the  gifted 
translator." 


•'Commands  the  Attention  of  All  Lovers  of  Poetry." 

[From  the  I^aucaster  (Pa.)  Intelligencer.] 

"The  translation  commands  the  atten- 
tion of  all  lovers  of  poetry,  and  as  repro- 
ducing with  accuracy  and  force  the  poetic 
thought  of  Schiller's  masterpiece,  it  is  a 
notable  work.  In  the  minds  of  a  great 
many,  however,  the  only  right  of  poetry 
to  exist  depends  upon  the  melody  of  the 
language  used,  and  it  has  been  found 
almost  impossible  for  even  the  greatest 
poets  to  translate  a  poem  with  exact  ad- 
herence to  the  thought  and  an  equal  care 
for  the  sound  effect.  It  has  been  said 
that  Longfellow  sacrificed  sense  to  sound, 
and  Zimmerman  may  be  taxed  with  the 
smaller  fault  of  reversing  the  sacrifice 
and  preserving  the  vigor  and  beauty  of 
the  thought.  If  the  English  language 
cannot  accommodate  itself  to  Schiller  so 
much  the  worse  for  the  language.  In 
many  passages,  however,  words  and 
thoughts  are  equally  pleasing,  and  we 
have  to  thank  the  talented  Pennsylvania 
editor  for  an  excellent  and  valuable  addi- 
tion to  our  translated  literature." 


"A  Wonderful  Success. " 
[From  the  Reading  Herald.] 

"The  translation  is  a  wonderful  success 
in  "-etting  over."  to  use  the  German 
idiom,  into  the  English  language  the 
whole  poem  without  apparently  marring 
a  sentiment  or  jarring  out  of  place  the 
delicate  music  that  Schiller  put  into  it. 
In  doing  this  he  [vlr.  Zimmerman]  has 
performed  a  service  for  English  readers 
not  to  be  overestimated,  and  has  added 
much  to  the  fame  he  has  already  acquired 
by  his  admirable  translations  of  some  of 
the  masterpieces  of  German  poetry." 


"Charming  and  Impressive." 

[From  the  Philadelphia  City  Item.] 

"  It  is  worthy  of  the  reputation  of  Mr. 
Zimmerman,  who  possesses  the  .poetic 
faculty  in  an  eminent  degree,_  and  whose 
facility  as  a  writer  is  charming  and  im- 
pressive." 


A  Poetic  Tribute. 

Rev.  Theodore  E  Schmauk,  associate 
pastor  of  Salem's  Lutheran  church,  Leba- 
non, and  a  gentleman  of  high  literary 
culture,  writes  from  '"On  Board  Train," 
''New  York  State,"  as  follows  : 

1 '  My  Dear  Mr.  Zimmerman : — Your 
new  translation  in  my  hand  has  kept  my 
eyes  from  the  snowy  scenes,  through 
which  I  am  being  whirled,  along  the 
shores  of  Seneca  Lake. 

In  a  pure  white  flame  you  have  fused 
over  again  the  great  German  Glocke, 
and  run  its  molten  metal  into  the  ever 
changing,  mightily-stirring  metrical 
mould  of  the  original,  with  such  success 

That  both  heart  and  eye  delighted, 
May  behold  the  perfect  form. 

If  the  German  'Glocke'  be  'like  a 
golden  star,'  and  vibrate  with  golden 
tones  ;  surely  the  English  "Bell  is  like  a 
silvery  star,  and  sings  a  silvery  song." 

"Poetic  Genius  of  a  High  Order." 

[From  the  Harrisburg  (Pa.)  Telegraph.] 

"  Schiller's  "  Song  of  the  Bell"  is  one 
of  the  finest  poems  in  the  German  or  any 
other  language,  and  Mr  Zimmerman  has 
translated  it  in  a  manner  which  preserves 
the  beauty  of  sentiment  and  imngery  of 
the  original,  and  gives  him  fresh  claims 
on  the  praise  of  lovers  of  pure,  vigorous 
English.  The  Telegraph  congratulates 
Mr  Zimmerman  on  his  success  as  a  trans- 
lator." 


Shows  Skill  and  Taste. 

The  Book  Buyers'1  Guide  of  Balti- 
more, recently  contained  the  following 
under  its  editorial  head:  "Editor  Zim- 
merman, of  the  esteemed  Reading  TIMES, 
finds  time  in  the  intervals  of  daily  work 

!  to  woo  the  muses.  He  recently  pub- 
lished a  metrical  translation  of  Schiller's 
4 Das  Lied  von  der  Glocke. '  It  compares 
favorably  with  similar  efforts  by  other 
writers  and  shows  no  little  skill  and  liter- 
ary taste.  The  Bell  Song  is  one  of  the 
most  difficult  poems  to  render  into  Eng- 
lish to  be  found  among  Schiller's  writings. 
It  has  a  great  variety  of  metre  and  the 
meaning  in  the  original  is  in  some  cases 

j  not  a    little    obscure.     Mr.    Zimmerman 

|  has  received,  as  he  deserves,  the  compli- 

'  ments  of  the  craft." 


A  Clergyman's  Congratulations. 
Rev.  S  H.  Hoover,  pastor  of  St.  Peter's 
M.  E.  church,  this  city,  concludes  a  letter 
to  the  translator  in  these  words  : 

•  'You  have  a  way  of  getting  at  the 
meaning  of  the  German  poets— that's 
really  genius.  How  do  you  do  it  ?  Tell 
us  your  secret.  I  think  even  Schiller 
himself  is  indebted  to  you  and  ought  to 
rise  and  thank  you  for  making  his  Bell 
ring  out  so  grandly  its  melodious  peals 
to  the  comfort  and  delight  of  the  busy 
peoples  of  this  busy  century." 


"Eminently  Creditable." 

[From  the  Scranton  Truth,] 

"Eminently  creditable   to   that  gentle- 
man's literary  skill." 


Brentano's  Publishing  House  Wants  It. 

Brentanos'  publishers  and  booksellers, 
5  Union  Square,  New  York,  write  as 
follows  : 

THOS.  C.  ZIMMERMAN — Dear  Sir: — 
Where  can  we  obtain  "The  Song  of  Bell" 
by  you  ?  If  you  can  supply  it  please  send 
one,  with  bill. 

From  the  Deputy  Sup't  of  Penna.  Schools. 
The  following  congratulatory  letter  is 
from  the   Deputy  Superintendent  of  the 
Common  Schools  of  the  State  : 

"Commonwealth  of  Pennsylvania,        ) 
Department  of  Public  Instruction,     > 
HARRISBURG,  Feb.  12,  1889.   j 
"Mr.   Zimmerman: — Your  translation 


Revealing  "a  Mine  of  Poetic  Wealth." 
Hon  Charles  B.  Forney,  a  retired  iron- 
master residing  at  Lebanon,  and  a  writer 
I  of  State-wide   reputation,  sends  the  fol- 
j  lowing  under  date  of  the  I2th  instant : 

"FRIEND   ZIMMERMAN. — Dear  Sir: — 
j  Your  translation  of  Schiller's   "Song  of 
I  the  Bell"  is  deservedly  calling  forth  the 
j  praise  of  capable  critics.     It  is  a  literary 
I  triumph  of   which    you    may    well    feel 
i  proud,  ranking  as  it  does  your  name  with 
those  of  the  most  distinguished  transla- 
tors   from    the    German.     The  mine  of 
poetic  wealth  you  have  revealed  to  us  in 
your  translations,  is  not  only  invaluable 
j  in  itself,    but  forcibly  teaches  the  same 
|  lesson,    that   "man   lives  not  by  bread 
|  alone."     Those    who    minister    to    our 
|  higher  and  better  nature  are  few— you 
are  destined  to  be  one  of  them." 


What  the  Editor  of  "American  Notes  and  Queries'' 
Says. 

Under  date  of  February  i2th,  instant, 
W.  H.  Garrison,  one  of  the  editors  and 
publishers  of  American  Notes  and  Quer- 
ies, says  : 

"My  Dear  Sir:— I  spoke  yesterday  to 
Mr  Levy,  a  highly  intelligent  German, 
editing  the  Evening  Herald  of  this  city, 
about  the  translation  of  "The  Song  of 
the  Bell."  If  you  will  forward  him  a 
copy  for  notice  it  will  be  appreciated  as 
greatly  as  it  was  by 

Very  truly  yours, 

W.  H.  GARRISON. 


sence.  I  have  read  it  over  and  over 
again,  and  I  am  glad  to  admit  that  you 
have  accomplished  a  task  which  tome 
seemed  impossible.  I  thought  there  is 
no  English  which  could  take  the  place  of 
this  beautiful  German. 

With  your  translation  before  me,  I  am 
ready  to  say  it  is  Schiller's  poem  in  Eng- 
lish as  it  is  in  German.  We  are  proud  of 
the  fact  that  you  belong  to  Lebanon 
county," 

An  "Ideal  Interpretation." 

The  following  note  from    New   York  i 
city  explains  itself: 

The    harmonious  blending  of  words, 
the   true  and  ideal  interpretation  of  the 
great    German     poet's    masterwork,     is 
through  your  masterly  translation  made  • 
truly  perfect.     The  clear  and  sweet  into-  \ 
nations  of  the  "Bell"  now  have  the  iden- 1 
tical  metallic  ring  in  both  languages  !  " 
Very  sincerely  yours, 

LOUIS  C.  WOEHNING. 


P.  F.  Rothermel, .  the  well  known 
painter  of  the  "Battle  of  Gettysburg," 
writes  as  follows  : 

'  "My  Dear  Mr.  Zimmerman  : — I  read 
your  translation  of  Schiller's  "Song  of 
the  Bell;"  also  your  paper  containing 
many  expressions  of  very  great  value 
from  scholars,  whose  praise,  unreserved 
and  spontaneous  as  it  is,  stamps  your 
translation  as  q  work  of  the  greatest 
merit. 

I  wish  also  heartily  to  congratulate  you 
upon  the  manner  in  which  the  public  has 
met  your  work  by  its  pronounced  appre- 
ciation." 


Never  Saw  a  Better  Piece  of  Work. 
"I  find  yonr  translation  very  good.  I 
have  never  seen  a  better  piece  of  work. 
The  same  opinion  of  its  high  merit  is  en- 
tertained by  all  to  whom  I  have  shown 
the  translation." 

Yours  truly, 

GEO.  HOEHN. 

360  Seventh  Ave.,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 


-52- 


-The  Finest  Translation  Yet  Made." 
Under  this  caption  appears  the  follow- 
ing editorial    from  the  columns  of  the 
Easton  (Pa.)  Sunday  Call: 

The  truest  translation  yet  made,  not- 
withstanding so  scholarly  a  gentleman  as 
Dr.  Furness  and  several  others  equally 
eminent,  had  previously  translated  it. 
This  is  but  one  of  the  many  creditable 
translations  rendered  from  the  German 
by  our  gifted  editorial  brother. : ' 

"As  an  evidence  of  the  esteem  in  which 
the  people  of  Reading  hold  him,  it  may 
be  stated  that  at  a  musical  festival  held 
there,  by  the  most  popular  society  of  the 
city,  a  part  of  the  program  was  the  reci- 
tation, by  the  Mayor  of  the  city,  of  the 
English  translation  alluded  to,  to  a  large 
and  intelligent  audience  cf  the  elite  of 
Reading." 

"Adding  Lustre  to  the  Illustrious  Schiller." 
Dr.  S.  T.  Lineaweaver,  of  Lebanon, 
sends  the  following  highly  flattering 
commendation  of  the  translator's  work  : 
"You  must  certainly  be  divinely-gifted, 
in  a  poetical  sense,  to  reproduce  in  a  for- 
eign language,  a  poem  hitherto  deemed 
tame  except  in  its  original  language, 
recognize  the  difficulty  of  a  poetical 
translation  into  hard  English,  from  the 
German,  and  was  amazed  as  well  as 
gratified  to  know  that  a  fellow-townsman 
of  mine  could  add  lustre  to  the  illustrious 
Schiller.  This  translation  will  go  down 
to  generations  of  English-reading  people 
in  company  with  its  illustrious  author." 


A  New  York  Lady's  Congratulations. 
A  daintly-written  note,  approaching  in 
delicacy  of  form  and  feature  the  attrac- 
tiveness oi  copperplate,  reached  the 
translator  from  New  York  a  few  days  ago. 
It  is  dated  as  follows  : 

1135  Lex.  Ave.,  Cor.  79th  .St.,  ) 
NEW  YORK,  Feb.  12,  1889.  j 
"  My  familiarity  with  the  German  lan- 
guage has  enabled  me  to  enjoy  the  origi- 
nal works  of  this  poet  laureate — and  you 
through  an  admirable  translation,  per- 
fectly reflect  the  beauties  of  the  poem, 
thereby  enabling  American  ladies  to 
share  the  enjoyment,  and  appreciate  this 
favorite  poet  to  a  far  greater  degree  than 
heretofore. ' ' 

Very  respectfully, 

FRANCES  WOEHNING. 


Achieving  Fame. 

[From  the  Scranton  Republican.] 

"Mr.  Zimmerman  has  achieved  no  lit- 
tle fame  as  a  translator  of  poetry  from 
German  to  English." 


"Americanizing  the  German  Muse." 
Dr.  Frank  Cowan,   of  Greenesburgh, 
well  known  in  literary  and  scientific  cir- 
cles as  a  writer  of  scholarly  ability,  sends 
the  following  : 

"THOMAS  C.  ZIMMERMAN,  Esq.,  Read- 
ing, Pa. — My  Dear  Sir: — I  congratulate 
you  heartily  on  the  series  of  brilliant  suc- 
cesses which  you  have  achieved  in 
Americanizing  the  German  Muse.  It 
seems  to  me  to  be  the  capping-sheaf  to 
our  general  success  in  naturalizing  the 
Germans,  to  make  our  own  the  highest 
evolutions  of  their  poetic  thought.  It  is 
becoming  in  a  man  of  your  name  and 
lineage  to  engage  in  this  work  ;  it  is 
within  the  compass  of  your  well,  known 
powers  of  appreciation  and  expression  to 
continue  your  successes  indefinitely,  and 
have  no  rival  save  yourself;  and  it  is  my 
earnest  prayer  that  you  work  away  until 
— poetically,  at  least — the  terms  Pennsyl- 
vania Dutch  and  German  American  be  as 
tautologic  as  ox-beef,  Hebrew-Jew,  or 
the  like.  With  respect  to  your  last  suc- 
cess—well, I  thank  you  a  thousand  times 
for  combining  forever  the  tones  of  Schil- 
ler's Bell  and  the  notes  of  the  wood- 
thrush  and  other  choristers  of  Appa- 
lachia. " 


"Beautiful,  Correct,  Rhythmic." 
The  Harrisburg  Evening  Star  says  : 
"We  have  long  known  Mr.  Zimmer- 
man's love  for  the  Muses,  but  had  no 
idea  that  so  beautiful,  so  correct,  so 
rhythmic  a  rendition  of  one  of  the  great 
German's  greatest  poetic  effusions  could 
be  produced  in  English.  Mr.  Zimmer- 
man has  done  so,  and  the  sons  and  de- 
scendants of  das  Vaterland  owe  him  a 
debt  of  gratitude. " 

Rev.  Dr.  Mann's  Eloquent  Tribute. 

Rev.  W  J.  Mann,  D.D.,  of  Philadel- 
phia, perhaps  the  foremost  German  pulpit 
orator  in  America,  under  date  of  Febru- 
ary 27th,  writes  as  follows  : 

"THOMAS  C.  ZIMMERMAN,  ESQ. — Dear 
Sir:— So  much  has  been  said  in  praise  of 
your  excellent  translation  of  Schiller's 
"Glocke"  that  whatever  I  might  say  can- 
not add  one  leaf  to  the  wreath  of  laurels 
encircling  your  head.  Perhaps  it  might 
not  be  unwelcome  to  you  to  hear  that  one 
of  the  greatest  in  the  line  of  literary  criti- 
cism, Wilhelm  von  Humbold,  once  re- 
marked that  Schiller's  'Glocke'  was  the 
song  which  embodied  in  its  sentiments 
the  entire  scale  of  feelings  of  which  the 
human  soul  was  capable  The  'Glocke' 
has  not  lost  iu  this  respect  by  being  by 
you  recast  in  the  English  mould." 


-53- 


High  Praise  from  Rev.  W.  H.  Myers. 

In  his  "At  Leisure"  paper  contributed 
to  The  Lutheran  of  January  3ist,  Rev.  W. 
H.  Myers,  of  this  city,  pays  the  following 
high  compliment  to  the  translator  ol 
"The  Song  of  the  Bell"  and  his  work  : 

When  Col.  T  C.  Zimmerman,  quite  re- 
cently, published  at  the  request  of  The 
Lutheran,  his  new  translation  of  Luther's 
Battle-Hymn,  a  spontaneous  literary 


scenes  shift  in  their  moods  like  sunshine 
playing  through  rushing  clouds.  Humor 
it  has  none,  tor  Schiller  had  none — but  a 
mixture  of  solid  repose  and  a  surprised 
influx  of  thrilling  pathos,  chased  out 
again  by  light-hearted  playfulness.  It  is 
not  art,  but  genius  that  can  reflect  this 
poem  in  another  tongue 

The  opening  verses  describing  the  cast- 
ing of  the  bell,  are  full  of  stately  senti- 


ovation  overwhelmed  him.  The  secular  I  ments  and  philosophic  truths  capable  of 
and  religious  press  from  every  side  at  |  much  artificial  bungling  in  the  transla- 
once  popularized  the  excellent  rendition,  [  tion— but  there  is  nothing  labored  in  the 

^,»-k,4*.-.4-,^«-,,i£;^j^i "U A __   i     A  ,  ,  i        it          .  .  -  ° 


and  intensified  the  beauty  and  strength  of 
the  original  hymn  itself— one  of  the  rich- 
est legacies  of  the  Lutheran  Church. 

Mr.  Zimmerman's  genius,  as  a  transla- 
tor from  German  into  English,  is  even 
better  demonstrated  in  his  masterly  ren- 
dition of  "Schiller's  Song  of  the  Bell," 
just  brought  to  public  notice.  It  was 
first  read_  before  a  large  assemblage  in 
the  Reading  Academy  of  Music  last  week, 
and  was  afterwards  printed  in  the  Read- 
ing TIMES,  where  the  German  and  Eng- 
lish appear  side  by  side.  Those  who 
are  interested  in  the  poem  would  do  well 
to  secure  it  in  this  shape  by  sending  for 
copies  of  the  TIMES. 

The  great  German  lyric  bard  is  not  so 
easily  approached  by  the  translator 
His  classical  metres  were  not  popular  in 
this  country  until  recently.  Then,  too, 
he  is  often  mystical,  and  this,  together 
with  the  peculiar  metre,  makes  the  rendi- 
tion of  his  writings  into  English  a  diffi- 
cult task. 

"The  Song  of  the  Bell"    rides  on 
top    crest  of  Schiller's  popularity, 
varied    intonations    are    as   rich   as 
sounding    metal   of  the  Bell   itself, 
wonder  so  many  translators  have  labored 
over  its  eccentric  lines,  oft  weird,  oft  ex- 
hilarating—few of  the  translations    can 
be  praised  for  fidelity  to  the  original. 

I  have  before  me  Edgar  Alfred  Bow- 
ring's  effort  Men  of  greater  literary 


knottiest  parts. 

The  revelry  of  love  and  its  beautiful 
attainment— the  hymeneal  altar,  as  pic- 
tured by  Schiller,  has  not  suffered  by  the 


the 
Its 
the 
No 


fame  have  risked  their  reputation  on 
Schiller's  poem — but  this  modest  tribute 
is  not  eclipsed  by  any  more  popularly 
accepted  authority. 

We  need  not  necessarily  have  the  in- 
stinct of  the  more  astute  critic  to  affirm 
that  the  translation  of  T.  C.  Zimmerman 
strikes  one  as  pre-eminently  masterly. 
The  faithful  art-student  of  poesy  may 
linger  and  pick  flaws  iu  detail  if  he  will- 
there  is  much  in  feeling  that  a  thing  is 
right.  The  deep  poetic  feeling  of  the 
bard  appeals  more  to  the  heart  than  to 
the  head  of  the  reader.  Our  translator 
has  caught  the  spirit  of  the  varied  transi- 1 
tions  of  the  poem  most  faithfully— the  I 


translation.     It  retains  the  measured  in- 
tonations of  the  bell — 

»•     See  the  pipes  already ... 

This  small  bar  I  dip  therein  ; 
If  it  show  a  glazed  coating, 
Then  the  castings  may  begin. 

Workmen,  quickly  go, 

Prove  the  mixture's  flow. 
When  soft  and  brittle  fuse  together, 
'Tis  a  sign  propitious  ever. 

For  when  the  stern  and  soft  are  sharing, 
And  strength  with  gentleness  is  pairing, 
The  harmony  is  sweet  and  strong. 
Who,  therefore,  would  be  bound  forever. 
Must  see  that  hearts  agree  together!— 
Illusion's  brief,  repentance  long. 
Lovely,  in  the  bride's  fair  tresses, 
Plays  the  virgin  wreath  of  green, 
When  the  merry  church  bells,  ringing, 
Summon  to  the  joyous  scene. 
Ah  !  life's  sweetest  festal  moments 
Also  end  life's  sunny  May, 
With  the  veil,  and  with  the  girdle, 
Fond  illusions  fade  away. 
For  passion  will  fly, 
But  love  be  surviving  • 
The  flower  must  die, 
The  fruitage  be  thriving. 
The  man  must  be  out 
In  life's  battle  fighting, 
Be  struggling  and  striving, 
And  planting  and  working, 
No  artifice  shirking, 
Be  risking  and  staking, 
His  fortune  o'ertaking. 

Taking  all  in  all,  I  think  the  translator 
has  shown  himself  most .  masterly  in  the 
thrilling,  exciting  alarum  that  he  creates 
in  the  unhesitating,  even  strokes  of  the 
following  lines.  The  picture  is  real,  and 
not  a  single  misplacing  of  word  or  metre 
breaks  the  spell  of  your  excitement — 

How  friendly  is  the  fire's  might, 
When  tamed  by  being  watched  aright ; 
And  what  man  fashions,  what  creates, 
From  this  heaven-born  force  he  takes. 
But  fearful  this  promethean  wonder, 
When  its  fetters  break  asunder, 
And  madly  leaps  unchecked  along! 
Dame  Nature's  daughter,  free  and  strong  ! 
Woe,  when  once  'tis  liberated, 
Spreading  free  on  every  hand  • 
Through  the  streets,  like  fiend  unsated, 
Quickly  moves  the  monstrous  brand  ! 
By  the  elements  is  hated 
Work  that's  done  by  human  hand. 


-54- 


From  the  clouds  come 

Richest  blessing, 

Rains  refreshing ; 

From  the  clouds,  'mid  thunder's  crash, 

Lightnings  flash. 

Hear'st  from  yon  spire  the  wild  alarm? 

That's  the  storm!    * 

Red  as  blood 

Are  the  skies ; 

That  is  not  the  daylight's  flood. 

What  tumults  rise 

Along  each  street ! 

Up,  smoke  and  heat. 

Through  the  streets,  with  fury  flaring, 

Stalks  the  fire  with  fiendish  glaring, 

Rushing  as  if  the  whirlwind  sharing! 

Like  the  blast  from  furnace  flashing 

Glows  the  air,  and  beams  are  crashing, 

Pillars  tumbling,  windows  creaking, 

Mothers  wandering,  children  shrieking 

Beasts  are  moaning, 

Running,  groaning 

'Neath  the  ruins  ;  all  are  frightened, 

Bright  as  day  the  night  enlightened. 

Through  the  chain  of  hands,  extending, 
Wi'  zeal  contending, 
Flies  the  bucket ;  bow-like,  soaring, 
High  in  air  the  stream  is  pouring. 
Comes  the  tempest,  howling,  roaring, 
Rushing  in  the  path  of  flame 
Crackling  'mid  the  well-dried  grain, 
In  the  gran'ry  chambers  tailing, 
'Long  the  well-dried  rafters  bawling  ; 
As  if 'twould  surely  tear,  in  blowing, 
The  very  earth  itself  and  bear 
It  upwards  through  the  lurid  air. 
High  as  heaven  the  flames  are  growing- 
Giant  tall ! 
Hopeless,  all, 

Man  submits  to  might  o'erpow'ring  ; 
Idly  sees,  what  first  seemed  low'ring, 
His  work  to  sure  destruction  going. 

All  burnt  put  are 
Town  and  village, 

Rugged  beds  ofthe  tempest's  pillage. 
In  the  hollow  gaping  windows 
Gloom  is  sitting, 

And  the  clouds,  through  heaven  flitting, 
Look  within. 

One  look  at  last 
Where  the  measure 
Of  his  treasure 

Buried  lies,  man  turns  to  cast — 
Then  clutches  he  his  staff  with  pleasure. 
Whate'er  the  flames  took  from  his  home, 
One  solace  ever  him  consoleth  : 
He  counts  the  heads  of  those  he  loveth, 
And  lo  !  not  one  dear  head  is  gone. 

There  is  much  of  the   rural   repose  ot 
"Gray's  Elegy"  in  the  following  lines- 
much  ofthe  English  dignity- 
Filled  with  grain 
Reels  the  wagon, 
Heavy-laden- 
Bright  with  leaves 
On  golden  sheaves 
Garlands  glance, 
And  the  youngest  of  the  reapers 
Seek  the  dance. 

Street  and  market  grow  more  silent ; 
Household  inmates  now  are  seeking 
The  cheering  glow  of  lighted  tapers, 
And  closing  town-gates  'gain  are  creaking. 
Dark  ness  spreadeth 
O'er  the  landscape  ; 
But  the  honest  burgher  dreadeth 
Not  the  night, 

Which  alarm  to  evil  spreadeth  ; 
For  the  eye  of  Law  keeps  watch  aright. 


Shakesperean  in  its  cast  are  the  follow- 
ing lines.  The  English  has  the  sturdy 
strength  ofthe  warlike  passions  it  depicts: 

"Equal'ty  and  Freedom!  ;)  men  are  shrilling, 

To  arms  the  peaceful  burghers  fly, 

The  streets  and  halls  with  crowds  are  filling, 

And  murd'rous  bands  around  there  hie. 

Then  women,  to  hyenas  turning, 

'Mid  horrors  mock  and  jeer  and  jest, 

And  tear,  with  panther's  irenzy  burning, 

The  heart  from  every  hostile  breast. 

There's  naught  that's  sacred  more,  for  breaking 

Are  all  the  bonds  of  pious  fear, 

The  bad  the  good  one's  place  is  taking, 

Vice  knows  no  law  in  its  career. 

'Tis  dangerous  to  wake  the  lion, 

Destructive  is  the  tiger's  tooth, 

But  far  more  fierce,  and  far  more  fiendish, 

Deluded  man  bereft  of  ruth. 

Woe  to  them  who  lend  the  sightless 

The  heavenly  torch  to  light  the  way! 

It  guides  them  not,  it  can  but  kindle, 

And  towns  and  lands  in  ashes  lay. 

The  reaction  of  the  poem  is  well  ar- 
rested in  the  dropping  of  the  curtain  upon 
it  all.  We  are  satisfied  with  the  bell,  and 
quite  ready  at  last  to  consign  it  to  its 
exalted  place — 

And  now  employ  the  cable's  power, 
Raise  the  bell  from  out  the  ground, 
That  in  its  roomy,  air-built  tower, 
It  may  reach  the  realms  of  sound  ! 

Higher,  higher  raise ! 

Now  it  moves,  it  sways  ! 
To  this  city  Joy  revealing, 
Be  PEACE  the  first  note  of  its  pealing. 


A  San  Francisco  Lady's  Inquiry. 
The  following  letter,  written  in  German 
(herewith  translated)   is  from  a  lady  in 
San  Francisco,  from   which  place  it  was 
mailed  on  the  nth  instant : 

"MR.  THOS  C.  ZIMMERMAN,  Editor  oj 
the     Times.  —HONORED     SIR  :— May      I 
trespass  upon  your   kindness    by   asking 
you  to  please  inform  me  from  whom  your 
I  translation    of  Schiller's    Glocke   (Bell), 
i  commented  on  in  our  papers,  may  be  ob- 
tained ? 

You  will  not  only  thankfully  oblige  me 

by  this  information,  but  also  aflord  sev- 

|  eral  ladies  of  my  acquaintance  the  great 

pleasure  of  enjoying  the  beauties  of  this 

wonderful  and  incomparable  poem. 

Hoping  you  may  kindly  gratify  my 
wish,  I  subscribe  myself,  with  the  great- 
est consideration, 

FRANCISCA  MANTELL- 


Thomas  MacKellar's  Compliment. 

Thomas  MacKellar,  Esq  ,  of  the  firm  of 
MacKellar,  Smiths  &  Jordan,  type-foun- 
ders, Philadelphia,  sends  the  following 
under  date  of  yesterday  : 

"One  who  can  translate  so  well  will 
surely  distinguish  himself  by  original 
work. ' ' 


-55- 


Rev.  Mr.  Cleveland's  Words  of  Praise. 

Rev.  H.  A.  Cleveland,  DD.,  of  Indian- 
apolis, Ind.,  formerly  of  this  city,  writes 
under  date  of  the  iSth  instant : 

"T.  C.  ZIMMERMAN. — Dear  Sir:— I 
was  delighted  when  I  saw  your  'Song  ot 
the  Bell.'  Your  hand  has  yet  its  cunning 
and  knows  how  to  turn  the  glowing  Ger- 
man of  Schiller  into  glorious  English.  No 
one  who  is  not  himself  a  poet  could 
translate  as  you  have  translated  Your 
rendering  enables  English  readers  to  see, 
as  they  never  before  have  seen,  why  it  is 
that  Schiller  has  won  and  held  the  hearts 
of  the  German  people.  Thanks  for  your 
insight  and  wonderful  interpretation." 
Long  may  you  live  and  with  your  fine 
frenzy  make  glad  many  readers  as  in  the 
pealing  notes  of  this  "Song  of  the  Bell" 
your  "revealing"  has  done 


Sup't  Buehrle's  Congratulation. 

R.  K.  Buehrle,  Ph.  D.,  city  superinten" 
dent  of  the  public  schools  of  Lancaster, 
writes  under  date  of  the  i8th  inst.  : 

"Having  been  an  advocate  of  the  study 
of  German  in  our  common  schools  now 
for  upwards  of  twenty  years,  and  having 
taught  classes  pursuing  the  study  of  that 
language  during  almost  all  that  time, 
and  have  given  more  than  ordinary  at- 
tention to  metre  and  versification,  I  may 
perhaps  be  permitted  to  say  that  I  know 
something  of  the  difficulty  of  preserving 
the  metre  of  the  original  in  the  transla- 
tion into  English  of  so  highly  artistic  a 
poem  as  the  "Song  of  the  Bell."  Let 
the  "well  done"  of  your  old  friend, 
though  it  come  late,  not  be  less  grateful 
to  you,  but  may  it  rather  stir  you  up  to 
continue  in  the  good  work  of  acquainting 
the  Germanic  peoples  more  thoroughly 
with  each  other,  by  enabling  this  Eng- 
lish-speaking nation  also  to  enjoy  the 
beautiful  creations  of  the  'divine  art' 
now  laid  up  in  the  younger  sister  lan- 
guage." 


Franklin  B.  Gowen's  Congratulations, 
The  following  letter  written  on  the  22d 
of  February  explains  itself : 

"My  Deaf  Sir: — I  am  obliged. by  your 
favor  of  the  i4th  instant,  enclosing  your 
admirable  translation  of  "Das  Lied  von 
der  Glocke,"  which  I  have  read  with 
great  pleasure.  You  are  to  be  congratu- 
lated upon  the  excellence  of  your  work, 
and  especially  upon  having  succeeded  in 
rendering  a  very  faithful  translation  into 
very  spirited  English  verse. 

FRANKLIN  B.    GOWEN. 


Prof.  J.  H.  Dubbs's  Compliment. 
Jos.  Henry  Dubbs,  Professor  in  Frank- 
lin   and    Marshall    College,      Lancaster, 
writes  as  follows  : 

FRANKLIN  AND  MARSHALL  COLLEGE.     ) 
LANCASTER,  Pa.,  Feb.  25,  1889.} 
My  Dear  Mr.  Zimmerman :— -I    have 
read  your  poetic  versions  with  the  keen- 
est interest,  regarding  them  as  possessed 
of  a  very    high   order  of   merit.     Good 
metrical  translators  are  more   rare  than 
original  poets,  and  their  work  is  deserv- 
ing of  high  appreciation.     It  not  only  in- 
volves great  labor  but  demands  peculiar 
talents.     Poets,    like    Coleridge,     Long- 
I  fellow  and   Bayard  Taylor  have  always 
I  regarded  their  metrical  versions  as  equal 
;  in  rank  to  their  best  original  work. 

The  extraordinary  success  which   has 
attended  your  labors  induced  me  to  hope 
that  you    will   continue   to  cultivate  this 
beautiful  field.     It  is  a  grand  thing  to 
convey  the  best  thoughts  of  the  greatest 
men  from  one  language  to  another,  and 
I  thus  to  make  them  the  property  of  an- 
other    people.     May  we   not  hope  that 
i  such   work    will   also   have    a   tendency 
;  to  induce  the  young  to  honor  their  Ger- 
|  man    ancestry,    and    to    appreciate    the 
precious  literary  treasures  of  the  father- 
land ? 


Another  Congratulation  from  the  Pacific  Coast. 

Mrs.  M.  P.  Biddle,  wife  of  Noble  Bid- 
die,  Esq.,  a  prominent  attorney-at-law  in 
San  Jose,  Cal.,  writes  under  date  of  the 
1 2th  thus  : 

MR.  T.  C.  ZIMMERMAN. — Dear  Friend: 
As  the  "Song  of  the  Bell"  rang  out  its 
notes  of  sadness  and  of  gladness,  in  the 
new  translation,  to  me  in  my  home  ot 
the  setting  sun,  I,  too,  join  in  the  "well- 
done"  and  offer  my  congratulations. 


ietter  from  the  Illinois  Staats-Zeitung. 

The  following  letter  from  the  Illinois 
Staats-Zeitung,  the  great  German  news- 
paper of  the  Northwest,  tells  its  own 
story  : 

"We  certainly  take  the  greatest  inter- 
est in  an  American  who  has  so  much 
love  for  our  German  poets  as  to  under- 
take a  translation  of  their  works." 


Just  as  Schiller  Wrote  It. 

The  Wilkesbarre  Record  of  the 
instant,  has  the  following  : 

"Col  Zimmerman  is  to  be  congratu- 
lated on  the  elegant  diction  ano\  complete- 
ness of  his  translation,  which  gives  the 
English  reader  Schiller's  beautiful  poem 
just  as  he  wrote  it." 


56- 


Prof.  Seidensticker's  High  Praise. 

Prof  Oswald  Seidensticker,  the  emi- 
nent litterateur,  who  fills  one  of  the  most 
important  chairs  in  the  Faculty  of  the 
University  of  Pennsylvania,  writes  from 
Philadelphia  under  the  date  of  March  4th 
instant,  as  follow^  : 

PHILADELPHIA  March  4,  1889. 

THOMAS  C.  ZIMMERMAN,  ESQ — Dear 
Mr.  Zimmerman: — Schiller's  Song  of 
the  Bell  is  of  all  lyrics  of  our  great  poet 
the  most  unique  and  precious,  and  the 
admiration  with  which  it  was  hailed 
nearly  a  century  ago  has  not  abated 
since.  Hence  translations  into  other 
languages  foremost  the  English,  have 
not  been  wanting.  But  so  intimately  is 
the  spirit  of  the  poem  blended  with  its 
sonorous  language  and  its  versatile 
rhythm  that  the  recasting  into  the  mould 
of  a  foreign  tongue  has  its  peculiar  diffi- 
culties. Many  able  men  have  undertaken 
the  task  and  the  successive  attempts  show 
a  remarkable  scale  of  improvement, 
as  everybody  must  admit  who  compares 
the  spirited  but  totally  inadequate  render- 
ing of  Bulwer  with  your  own  translation, 
which  combines  exactness,  faithful  ob- 
servance of  all  rhythmical  niceties  and  a 
fine  appreciation  of  the  poet  s  intention. 
I  hope  the  skill  which  you  have  exhibited 
as  a  translator  and  the  general  applause 
with  which  your  efforts  have  been  re- 
warded, may  induce  you  to  offer  in  Eng- 
lish garb  many  more  treasures  from  the 
inexhaustible  mine  of  German  poesie. " 


A  Poet's  Congratulations. 

H.  L.  Fisher,  Esq.,  attorney-at-law, 
York,  Pa  ,  and  author  of  several  volumes 
of  poems,  in  the  English  and  Pennsyl- 
vania-German, contributed  the  following 
to  the  columns  of  the  York  Daily  ol  a 
recent  date  : 

"Of  the  several  translations  of  this 
acknowlldged  masterpiece  of  one  of 
Germany's  many  great  poets,  I  have  been 
familiar  with  but  two,  Longfellow's  and 
Hempel's.  As  has  been  so  well  said  by 
several  of  Mr.  Zimmerman's  critics,  the 
beauty  if  not  the  excellence  of  his  English 
versions,  notably  of  the  one  more  im- 
mediately under  consideration,  consists 
in  that — which  is  the  highest  proof  of 
;enius— a  fairly  true  and  faithful  expres- 


Or,  may  I  say,  it  is  like  rebuilding  the 
belfry  while  the  Song  of  the  Bell  goes  on, 
without  suffering  even  a  discord  from  the 
sound  of  the  (Zimmerman's)  hammer 
This  is  the  work,  not  of  the  scholar, 
merely,  but  of  the  artist,  the  genius 

"To  further  illustrate  my  meaning,  it  is 
only  necessary  to  bring  into  contrast  the 
first  stanzas  of  two  or  three  translations 
mentioned,  in  juxtaposition  with  the 
original  : 
Fest  gemauert  in  der  Erden 

Steht  die  Form,  aus  Lehm  gebranut, 
Heute  muss  die  Glocke  werden  ! 
Frisch,  Gesellen,  seid  zur  Hand  ! 
Von  der  Stirne  heiss, 
Rinnen  muss  der  Schweiss, 
Soil  dass  Werk  der  Meister  loben  ; 
Doch  der  Segeu  kommt  von  oben. 

— Schiller. 

Fast  in  its  prison  walls  of  earth, 

Awaits  the  mould  of  bak-ed  clay. 
Up,  comrades,  up,  and  aid  the  birth  — 
The  Bell  that  shall  be  born  to-day! 
Who  would  honor  obtain, 
With  the  sweat  and  the  pain, 
The  praise  that  man  gives  to  the  master  must 

buy ! 
But  the  blessings  withal  must   descend  from  on 


high 


Hempel 


Firmly  walled  in  earth,  and  steady, 

Stands  the  mold  ot  well-burnt  clay. 
Quick,  now,  workmen,  be  ye  ready! 
Forth  must  come  the  bell  to-day ! 
Hot  from  forehead's  glow 
Must  the  sweat-drops  flow, 
Should  the  master  praise  be  given  ; 
Yet  the  blessing  comes  from  Heaven. 

— Zimmerman. 


What  the  Wcstliche  Post  Says. 

A  marked  copy  of  the  Westliche  Post, 
the  great  German  newspaper  of  the  West, 
published  at  St.  Louis,  was  sent  to  the 
office  of  the  TIMES.  It  contained  the 
following  paragraph  : 

"There  are  already  existing  a  number 
of  excellent  translations  into  the  English 
of  the  "Bell,"  from  Bulwer's  to  Rev.  Fur- 
ness's,  of  Philadelphia,  which,  up  to  the 
present  time,  has  been  judged  to  be  the 
best,  but  which,  indeed,  is  excelled  by 
that  of  Mr.  Zimmerman  in  the  accuracy 
of  the  rendition  of  the  original." 


High  Compliments  from  Lebanon. 

[From  the  Lebanon  Courier.] 

Mr.  Thomas  C.  Zimmerman,  editor  of 
the  Reading  TIMES,  in  whom  Lebanon, 
and  the  Courier  office  particularly,  feel  a 


sion  of  the  sense,  without,  in  the  least,  pride,  is  now  the  acknowledged  most 
impairing  the  sound — the  music — of  the  successful  translator  of  German  poetry 
original,  or,  (in  my  own  more  homely  that  has  ever  essayed  that  work.  With 
words,  •  it  is  like  transplanting  the  stalk,  i  a  profound  understanding  of  the  German 


the  bush  o|  full-blown  roses,  in  a  noon- 
day summer's  sun,  while  the  flowers  wilt 
not  nor  is  aught  of  their  fragrance  lost. 


language,  and  true  poetic  inspiration, 
German  poetry  in  no  way  loses  force  nor 
beauty  in  his  translations. 


•37- 


Foliowing  is  an  extract  from  a  sermon 
preached  in  Salem's  Lutheran  church  at 
Lebanon,  by  Rev.  Theodore  E.  Schmauk, 
on  Mr.  Zimmerman's  translation  of  "Eiri1 
feste  Burg:" 

A  native  of  Lebanon  has  been  led  to 
link  his  name  with  Luther's,  and  as  a  con- 
sequence "no  small  stir  '  has  arisen 
throughout  these  regions.  Our  represen- 
tative townspeople  have  been  moved  to 
express  a  glowing  appreciation  of  the 
work  of  both,  and  also  of  that  hymn  for 
the  ages,  which  Carlyle  compares  to  "a 
sound  of  Alpine  avalanches,  or  the  first 
murmur  of  earthquakes,"  whose  weighty, 
though  rugged  resonance  will  be  pro- 
longed, and  whose  faith-inspired  and 
faith-inspiring  outbursts  will  rise  to  the 
skies  long  after  "Hold  the  Fort"  with  its 
transient  fervor  will  have  passed  away 
with  the  hosts  of  ephemeral  songs  of  to- 
day and  been  buried  in  the  grave  of 
oblivion. 

Thus  one  of  our  prominent  citizens 
writes  to  the  new  translator  :  "The  rendi- 
tion of  the  soul-stirring  hymn  of  Luther  I 
regard  as  your  crowning  effort.  It  makes 
my  blood  tingle  when  reading  it.  Oh, 
that  we  would  realize  at  every  step  of  our 
weary  pilgrimage,  that.  ' Ein'  feste  Burg 
ist  unser  Gotf .  Who  can  estimate  what 
the  outcome  of  such  a  faith  would  be  ? 
You  have  done  a  public  service  in  plac- 
ing a  thorough  translation  of  the  grand 
old  lyric  in  the  hands  of  our  people, 
especially  the  rising  generation  God 
bless  you." 

One  of  our  leading  ladies  of  the  Pres- 
byterian church  writes  :  "I  thank  you 
for  the  pleasure  the  reading  of  your  fine 
translation  of  Luther's  noble  hymn  has 
given  me  *  *  -  *  *  That  the  simple, 
yet  lofty  faith  and  exultation  in  one 
'Mighty  to  Save,'  breathed  forth  in  every 
stanza  of  the  hymn  may  ever  be  the  ex- 
pression of  your  heart  as  well  as  your 
pen,  is  the  best  wish  I  can  offer  you." 

Another   writes  :  "A  work   of  inspira- 


tion.    Great  in  burning,  thrilling,    poeti- 
cal development," 

These  words  are  spray-drops  from  a 
wave  of  enthusiasm  that  has  rolled  widely 
beyond  local  bounds,  reaching  even  to 
the  sunny  slopes  of  California.  Ex-Gov- 
ernor Hoyt  writes  to  the  translator. 
"There  is  such  a  general  consensus  of 
opinion  from  those  entitled  to  speak  of 
your  translation  of  Luther's  Battle  Hymn 
of  the  Reformation,'  that  I  add  my 
congratulations  with  something  of  diffi- 
dence. If  Luther's  hymn  in  the  original 
is  as  good  for  a  'German'  as  yours  is  for 
an  'American'  it  is  good  enough."  Prof. 
Porter  of  Lafayette  College  speaks  to  the 
public  in  a  translation  of  his  own  Dr. 
Jacobs  of  the  Philadelphia  Theological 
Seminary  does  the  same.  An  unpublished 
one  of  Dr.  Seiss,  the  eloquent  Lutheran 
pulpit  orator,  is  brought  to  light.  Geo. 
W.  Childs  publishes  a  long  complimentary 
article  in  the  Philadelphia  Ledger,  and 
takes  occasion  to  write  personally  several 
times.  A  Presbyterian  clergyman  from 
Detroit,  Michigan,  writes:  "It  is  remark- 
ably well  done,  preserving  the  simplicity 
and  majesty  while  it  presents  the  force  and 
characteristic  ruggedness  of  the  famous 
stirring  hymn.  Your  verse  is  altogether 
good,  and  has  the  ring  of  battle  through- 
out. 'A  Rock-bound  Fortress  is  our  God, ' 
could  not  be  improved,  and  see  that  you 
put  no  file  upon  the  last  four  lines." 
Similar  strains  come  from  a  prominent 
clergyman  in  Philadelphia, and  from  many 
quarters,  but  perhaps  the  mo-t  surprising 
tribute  to  the  hymn  and  its  author  is  the 
one  coming  from  a  Methodfst  pulpit. 
Such  a  glorious  eulogy  of  Luther,  and 
his  faith,  and  his  heart,  and  his  singing, 
have  rarely  been  heard  from  even  a 
Lutheran  pulpit.  He  is  described  as  be- 
longing to  every  age — to  every  country 
— to  every  church — as  the  "solar  center 
of  undulations  which  have  filled  the 
world  with  light  and  glory,  and  those 
undulations  shall  continue  so  long  as  the 


waves  of  the  ocean  shall  beat  upon  the 
shores  of  time  and  even  into  the  great 
beyond." 


Talk  of  Putting  it  in  the  Hymn-Books. 

The  Westliche  Post  of  St.  Louis,  Mo., 
the  most  influential  German  newspaper 
in  the  West,  formerly  owned  by  Joseph 
Pulitzer,  of  the  New  York  World,  and  at 
one  time  edited  by  Carl  Schurz,  says  : 

''In  another  part  of  to-day's  paper  is 
printed,  side  by  side  with  the  German 
original  text,  an  English  translation  of 
Martin  Luther's  "JSm'  feste  Burg  ist 
unser  Gott.""  The  transferring  into  Eng- 
lish is  the  meritorious  work  of  Thos.  C. 
Zimmerman,  editor  of  the  Reading  TIMES. 
So  beautiful  is  the  translation,  that  there 
is  already  talk  of  substituting  it  for  the 
present  version  in  the  English  Lutheran 
hymn  books. 


Reception  of  the  Song  in  the  Fifth  Street  M.  E.  Church. 

Following  is  from  the  READING  TIMES 
of  February  27,  1888: 

Standing  room  was  held  at  premium 
in  the  Fifth  Street  M.  E.  church  last 
evening,  aisles,  gallery  and  every  availa- 
ble space  about  the  large  auditorium  be- 
ing crowded  with  an  anxious  and  ex- 
pectant audience  to  hear  Mrs.  James  C 
Brown,  assisted  by  a  special  choir,  under 
the  direction  of  Mr.  T.  W.  Frescoln. 
render  Mr  T.  C  Zimmerman's  transla- 
tion of  Luther's  great  battle  hymn,  "Eirf 
feste  Burg."  Among  the  audience 
were  a  large  number  of  prominent  citi- 
zens and  members  of  other  congrega- 
tions. That  the  rendition  of  the  hymn 
was  appreciated  by  the  large  congrega- 
tion is  shown  in  the  fact  that  the  choir 
was  requested  to  repeat  the  first  stanza, 
and  gratefully  complied.  The  soloist, 
Mrs.  Brown,  as  well  as  the  members  of 
the  choir,  were  complimented  on  all 
sides,  and  certainly  deserved  it  all.  The 
stanzas  were  sung  alternately  as  solo  and 
chorus,  and  were  rendered  with  fine 
effect. 

After  a  brief  introductory  service  Rev. 
S.  H.  Hoover  preached  on  the  text,  "Em1 
feste  Burg  ist  unser  Gott.^  Following  is 
the  concluding  paragraph  : 

"I  esteem  it  both  a  privilege  and  an 
honor  to  introduce  to  this  vast  audience 
and  to  the  singing  world  of  God's  wor- 
shippers what  will  probably  come  to  be 
regarded  as  the  best  translation  of  the  im- 
mortal battle-hymn  pi  the  Reformation, 
though  it  has  been  singing  in  cathedral, 
trmple,  meeting-house,  in  the  cloisters  of 
the  saints,  for  nearly  four  hundred  years. 


I  refer  to  the  translation  from  the  pen  of 
our  talented  fellow-townsman,  Mr. 
Thomas  C.  Zimmerman,  editor  of  the 
READING  TIMES.  He  has  not  only 
stormed  and  taken  "/?/«'  feste  Burg?' 
but  captured  the  hearts  also  of  the  sweet 
singers  of  Israel.  How  was  it  done  ? 
Whence  his  secret !  May  it  not  lie  in 
this,  that,  discarding  all  other  transla- 
tions, he  drew  himself  up  so  close  to  the 
original  that  the  heart  of  the  great  re- 
former telephoned  across  the  centuries 
its  own  swing  of  rugged  force  and  de- 
fiance, so  that  it  is  not  the  editor  of  the 
TIMES,  but  the  Reformer  himself  who 
sings." 


Dr,  Mann's  Eloquent  Tribute. 

The  late  Rev.  W.  J.  Mann,  D.  D.,  ol 
Philadelphia,  probably  the  foremost  Ger- 
man Lutheran  preacher  in  this  country, 
wrote  as  follows  : 

"He  (Martin  Luther)  has  set  aglow 
the  musical  genius  and  the  imaginative 
powers  of  artists,  and  now  he  has  by  his 
magic  art  elicited  from  you  a  brilliant 
spark  and  poured  a  flood  of  light  upon 
that  soul-stirring  "Eiri*  feste  Burg." 
It  takes  a  poet  to  be  moved  by  a  poet. 
Let  me  congratulate  you  on  your  eminent 
success  in  most  happily-  not  translating, 
but — reproducing  in  the  cognate  English 
language  that  emperor  among  the  royal 
assembly  of  ancient  German  church 
songs." 


Rev.  Dr.  Sch mucker's  Tribute. 

The  late  Rev.  B.  M.  Schmucker,  D.  D., 
said  among  other  things  : 

"Mr.  Zimmerman's  translation  has  so 
many  excellencies  that  it  must  be  placed 
in  the  list  of  those  which  deserve  special 
attention,  and  by  their  merits  demand 
the  consideration  of  those  who  seek  for, 
and  would  use  the  hymn  in  English. 

*  *  "  W  hen  I  consider  the  translations 
of  this  hymn  which  so  many  men  and 
women  eminent  for  their  poetic  gifts  and 
for  their  experience  as  translators  have 
produced.  I  am  the  more  impressed  with 
the  distinction  and  honor  due  to  Mr. 
Zimmerman  for  the  very  excellent  and 
commendable  rendering  of  it  which  he  has 
given  us." 


What  the  Phila.  Ledger  Says. 
*  *  Mr.  Zimmerman  has  not  only 
seized  the  meaning  of  the  author,  but  he 
has  so  put  it  into  an  English  clothing  as 
to  show  that  the  real  bone  and  sinew  of 
the  original  still  live  in  its  new  dress. 


GENERAL  LIBRARY 
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